Growing Up
by ShadowPillow
Summary: Hogwarts is a castle of many hidden wonders. Magic resides within its fortress walls, and it is wondrous, oh how wondrous. But it is all too easy to be changed by it, from an innocent child enchanted by the wonder to someone altogether different.
1. Humanity: Chapter 1

Summary: Hogwarts is a castle of many hidden wonders. Magic resides within its fortress walls, and it is wondrous, oh how wondrous. But it is all too easy to be changed by it, from an innocent child enchanted by the wonder to someone altogether different.

I own neither Danny Phantom or Harry Potter.

 _Book One:_ Humanity

Chapter One

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

"We're moving to England," were the monotone words my sister told me so many years ago. I remember being shocked, angry, indifferent. I hadn't known what to think. I was scared; all my life I had lived in America. What would England be like?

So of course, I had complained to Jazz about it, jarred at the news being broken so suddenly. My words weren't, perhaps, the nicest they could've been.

It was the reaction of a child. Young, and excusable. But still one of those tiny, irreversible moments that stuck with me. In the past. Unchangeable.

It might have been one of the many reasons Jazz became a psychologist.

Another could have been my parents' occupation: ghost hunting. To her, it was fascinating how our parents had skipped off the beaten path and did what they loved to do – or so she says now, anyhow. Back then, I got the feeling she didn't approve so much.

Anyhow, England. That was where it all began, I suppose. The story of my life.

How quaint.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

It was an average day in the Fenton household.

The family was gathered around the dinner table. Not eating exactly, as one might expect, but rather fighting off green blobs of ectoplasm that had somehow come to life in the oven. In the hands of each family member was a rather toy-like gun, blasting out green bolts of goo haphazardly. The most unusual of the four were the adults, wearing obnoxiously colored jumpsuits, and in the case of the woman, goggles. The children, on the other hand, were dressed in more suitable clothes to the modern times, and looked considerably less enthusiastic.

That is, it was an average day until the owl crashed into the dinner table covered by ectoplasmic entities.

All action stopped. Everybody glanced at each other, suddenly uncertain. The ectoplasm took this chance to spring through the wall and escape.

"I'll catch the ghost!" cried Jack Fenton, the man, as he sprung out the door. The woman, Maddie, stood rooted in place as her husband flew out of the house.

Then she smiled. Order was once again returned to the Fenton household.

"Look, it's a letter!" She took a step to the table and picked up an envelope from the very angry-looking owl. She turned it over and scrutinized it closely. "It's addressed to you, Danny."

Her son's mouth gaped open.

"To me?" he repeated incredulously, before a wicked smile appeared on his face. He'd never gotten many letters before. It made him feel accomplished, like an adult. His parents got letters in the mail all the time. _He_ only got the occasional birthday invite though, and that was before they moved to London. Even better, it was delivered by an _owl_. "Cool. Who's it from?"

Maddie frowned and turned it over again, lifting her goggles from her face in order to see better. "I'm actually not certain."

A noise of exasperation could be heard from around the other side of the dinner table. Jazz, Danny's redheaded older sister had finally decided to butt into the conversation. " _Mom_ , it's just on the top right corner."

Danny's face mimicked his mother's as it contorted into a grimace. Stupid know-it-all sister. How would she know anyway? It's not like _she_ got many letters either.

"Jazz," Maddie said, seeming exasperated, "It's just _not there_."

"What?" Her eyes widened comically, and she snatched the letter from her mother's hand. She seemed to take it as an affront to her person, nose wrinkling, when she discovered the exact thing her mother had.

Danny's laughter was abruptly cut short when she tore open the letter, destroying the seal.

"Hey!" he protested. "That's my letter!" But his sister didn't even seem to notice, so elated as she was with her apparent discovery.

"Aha! It's a letter from..." Again, the nose wrinkle, and an exasperated sigh as she let the letter fall to her side. She looked directly at him. "Sorry Danny, I think it's a hoax."

"A what?" He was annoyed. Couldn't his sister just talk like normal people?

"A joke," she explained, and the condescension of it all grated on his nerves. "Or a trick, if you like." She frowned. "It's not a very nice thing to do – "

"I'm back!" shouted a voice from the door, and whatever Jazz was going to say was forgotten in all of their minds, for Jack Fenton was indeed back. His ectogun was auspiciously missing, although he was covered in goo. "What the – Why is that owl still on our table?"

And indeed, the owl was still standing in the center of the dinner table, looking vaguely cross.

"Umm..." ventured Danny finally once the silence had been almost tangible. "Maybe it wants us to send a reply letter?"

"Letter? What letter?" Jack asked boisterously. Then he spotted the parchment curled in Jazz's fingers, and he brightened. "You got a letter, Jazzy-pants?"

The teenaged girl, only just age thirteen, rolled her eyes. "It's not mine, Dad. It's Danny's. But it's a ho – joke anyway."

Maddie had glanced at her daughter sharply at the "correction" she seemed to have made, but saw nothing to suggest that had been intentional, or even that her girl had even realized what it sounded like. Good. She wouldn't live to see the day _her_ daughter was corrupted by modern society.

"Well, what's it say?" Jack asked, not even faltering. To the children it might have looked like overenthusiastic optimism bordering on annoying, but to Maddie it was part of what made her love him.

"Well," Jazz hedged, and the wrinkle of the nose was back. "It really isn't –"

"Can I just read it?" Danny asked bluntly. Everybody turned to him in surprise.

"You haven't read it yet, Danny-boy?" Jack asked, seeming genuinely shocked. "But it's your letter!"

"I know," the boy grumbled under his breath, and held out his hand toward Jazz. His eyes widened pleadingly. "Jazz, can I _please_ just have my letter?" He knew it was no birthday invitation by now, and after all that suspense, he just wanted to see what was so ridiculous about the letter.

Maddie nodded approvingly, and Jazz bit her lip.

"But –"

"Please?" Hopeful smile.

"Oh, alright." The older sister sighed and passed over the letter, parchment slightly curled from the tension that had been placed on it in her tight grasp. "But it's really just nonsense."

And after taking a glance at it, Danny couldn't help but agree. As he read through the letter, his eyebrows only rose higher in astonishment and disbelief.

Well, he was flattered that someone would attempt to play such an elaborate joke – no, _hoax_ , as Jazz would put it – on him.

When he was done, he chuckled. "Mom, you should read this," he said and passed it over. Soon, an incredulous laugh erupted from her as well, and smiling, she passed it to Jack.

"Danny's been invited to attend a wizard school?" For once, there was a frown planted firmly on his face. "I don't like this, Mads. It feels like they're making fun of us. We're ghost hunters, not wizards. And using our son to do it?"

That sobered them all very quickly. Danny fidgeted nervously as everybody's attention turned to him. Nope, he didn't think the letter was very flattering anymore.

"So what are we going to do about it?" he said finally, and looks of surprise flashed across all their faces.

"Do about it?" Maddie echoed. "Why would we need to do anything about it?"

"Well," Danny shifted uncomfortably – he had never liked being the center of attention, even within his own family – "they said they were going to send a representative, right? Do you think somebody is actually going to come?"

A thoughtful look passed his mother's face. "You have a point there," she said, and he couldn't help but feel a slight swell of his pride. "It does seem to be a bit too much trouble to go to just to play a joke on us." Her eyes roved from face to face until they rested onto Jack. "I think we should write back."

Jack was beyond livid. "You want to write back to them, Mads? They're insulting our career!"

Maddie glanced meaningfully towards Jazz and Danny, and he immediately quieted down.

"Not with the kids here," she said, and just like that, they were utterly excluded from the conversation.

"Well," Danny said, the words feeling thick and forced in his mouth, his earlier pride taking on a bitter tint. "I'll go to my room then." Yeah, maybe he could play some video game. Maybe one of his friends would be online. This didn't matter. Like Jazz said, it was just some stupid _hoax_.

"I'm going too." Jazz's announcement surprised him, and when he turned to look at her, he saw a strange determination on her face. His parents, however, were looking at them sadly.

"Hey, this letter thing isn't anything big. Don't worry, alright? Your dad and I will sort it out."

His mother's reassurance just made him angrier. "Yeah, yeah," he scowled, and trudged up the stairs to his room. Jazz wasn't far behind, an affronted air lingering about her.

And suddenly, he realized that he was very, very hungry. The dinner had escaped through the wall, and they had never had the chance to eat.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

The next morning, there was a visitor. She was a tall, stern-looking woman with her hair wrapped in a bun and tightly stretched lips into a thin line. Her most striking factor was the austere black robes that enveloped her body.

Danny thought it was ridiculous, but he made her so nervous that he didn't say anything about it. She seemed to be more concerned with his parents, however, so he quickly poured his own cereal (which was for some reason glowing slightly green), ate it quickly, and ran back upstairs to the haven of his room.

The peace and safety only lasted until a knock came on his door, just ten minutes later.

"Mr. Fenton?" An unfamiliar voice called past the wood and plaster. It was likely the woman. "I would like to talk to you."

" _Now_?" he asked, dismayed. He glanced at his computer screen. He had just logged in game, and already a friend he met online was chatting to him. "Er... Give me a moment."

Quickly, he opened the chat box and inserted in a quick message, _sorry gtg_ , and exited it out while ignoring the quick response message. He left his computer on, however, since he figured whatever the woman wanted wouldn't take long, and he really didn't want to wait for his computer to start up _again_.

"Yes?" He peaked his head through the door, slipping out to close the door before the woman could see the state of his room. "What is it?"

He gulped under the woman's intense scrutiny. A nervous glance behind her told him that no, his parents did not accompany her to his room. So. A complete stranger was wandering around their house without supervision, and _she knew where his room was_. Now that thought was beyond creepy.

"Mr. Fenton," she began, and if he hadn't known it was a custom in England to call people by their last names, he would have found that creepy too, "Do you remember the letter you got yesterday?"

Danny stared blankly at her. Yesterday. What was yesterday.

Ah, right. No dinner. The argument. The slighting of his person. The letter.

"Yeah?" he said cautiously. "What about it?"

Something in her face changed at his question. Was it annoyance? Extreme patience? A fond look? He wasn't practiced enough to be able to tell.

"It's real," she explained, quiet yet intense. "You're a wizard."

He couldn't help it. He laughed. _Of course._ That's why she wore the robes. It was that _hoax_ from yesterday. Why hadn't he realized earlier?

And he also remembered his father's face, how affronted he had been at seeing the letter and his reasons why. Between that and the woman's unchanging face, his laughter died out.

"I want to talk to my parents," he said.

"Of course." And she turned around to glide down the stairs, as if she owned the place. It rankled him just as her coming directly to his room had.

He shivered, and realized his hands had been shaking the entire time. Scary old woman.

And yet, he followed her as she led him down the stairs to his own parents.

They were sitting on the couch in the living room, looking slightly dazed. Danny was instantly worried just at the sight of them, but the woman didn't look fazed in the least, almost as if she had expected this. That didn't reassure Danny in the slightest bit, but the moment his parents spotted the woman, they seemed to return back to the living. A smile even dared to grace his mother's face.

"Minerva!" she exclaimed, and Danny was delighted to see a slightly disgruntled look on the woman's – no, _Minerva's_ face. "I see you brought Danny." And then there was a slight frown with that sentence, as if she too realized how wrong it all was. "Have you... shown him what you could do?"

Jack, on the other hand, watched the woman as if she were one of those dangerous ghosts he always talked about, but had never actually seen for himself. Or as if he were a hawk, though in this family, the first simile might be more apt.

"No," Minerva replied rather stiffly, but then smiled to make amends for it. "I thought it would be best if you were here to assist as well."

Danny frowned.

"Of course," his mother said, then took a very deep breath. "How would you like to start?"

"A simple demonstration would do." She turned to Danny, and he noticed she was holding a simple wooden stick in her hand.

"This is a wand," she explained. "It allows me to perform magic. Watch."

And she flicked her wand, and suddenly the glass table that seemed to have been cleared exactly for this occasion, turned into a pig.

Danny yelped, and hit the frame of the living room door behind him. Then he grinned, despite the pain.

"Cool."

But he didn't see the point. His parents had given soup sentience, for Pete's sake. Sure, this one wasn't glowing green, but he was sure that could be easily adjusted.

But to her credit, there was a small matching smile on Minerva's face.

"You don't seem too impressed."

To his great surprise, after explaining his reasoning the stern-looking woman _laughed._

"Well, Mr. Fenton, you certainly have an interesting family." She included the adults into her sweeping gaze, allowing them to join in the joke. "I can assure you, however, that what I just did has nothing to with... ectoplasm or ghosts. It was magic, and it can do much more than what I have shown you. For example," she flicked her wand in a rapid combination Danny's eyes could barely follow, and the pig turned back into a table. "Wingardium Leviosa," she said, and suddenly the table was now floating.

But then again, so did many of the machines that his parents worked on. Unfortunately, he was also very aware of the fact that this table in particular, that had been turned into a pig and back, had none of the necessary equipment.

His grin grew wider. It was like a storybook.

"So," he said. "Magic."

"Magic," Minerva agreed. "And you possess it."

Somehow, he hadn't thought of that yet. It seemed blatantly obvious in retrospect – the letter addressed to _him_ , her even _telling_ him that he was a wizard. But none of that detracted from the message itself.

He was a wizard.

"I'm a wizard," he whispered, and he felt like his cheeks would fall right off because he was smiling so hard. "A wizard!"

How had he missed that twinkle in her eyes before? Was it really so hard to see behind the stern lines of her face?

"Yes, Mr. Fenton. You're a wizard. And that is why I'd like to extend an invitation to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to you."

"To me?" Danny's eyes were as wide as an owl's. "Really?"

"It's a boarding school, Danny," his mother cut in softly. "This is a big decision, but it's also your decision. There are other options if you don't want to leave home for a full year." Home. The house that they had been in for only a little over a year.

But he also had friends here.

His mouth, which had been about to enthusiastically say _yes, yes, I'd love to go to wizarding school_ abruptly shut closed. No, it wasn't a decision he could make in an instant. He met his mother's eyes. Begging, pleading, despite her outer containment. But for what, he didn't know.

Jack too, was uncharacteristically serious. "We'll support you in whatever you decide, Danny-boy."

It was ridiculous. He was only ten years old. He shouldn't be making decisions this big, this early.

Still, a very large part of him appreciated that his parents would take his own feelings into account, especially considering what had happened yesterday. He turned to Minerva,

"I... I think I'd like more time to think about this," he said, voice shaking slightly. "If that's alright with you," he added quickly.

"Of course." She smiled, and pulled out another envelope from her robes, much similar to the one he had received yesterday, and handed it over to him. He took it with his own small, unsteady hands. "This is your official invitation to Hogwarts, if you should decide to go. Included is a list of supplies for the school year, as well as a map to Diagon Alley, where most witches and wizards get their supplies. Even if you decide not to go to Hogwarts, it is a good idea to at least get a wand and other basics." She paused. "Do you think you will have decided in a week?"

Danny's eyes drifted to his mother, uncertain.

"Umm, I guess." A week seemed almost suffocating, trapping him. But he knew he couldn't take forever to decide.

"Excellent. Would it be all right then if I came by at say, 8 in the morning next week?"

This time, his mother did indeed save him from the questioning.

"Of course," she answered graciously. "Thank you for doing all of this for us." A smile danced on Minerva's lips.

"Of course. I daresay that you are some of the most... interesting people I've had the pleasure to meat." Then she paused, her expression thoughtful. "You mentioned having a daughter?"

A surprised look flashed across Maddie's face. "Yes, why?"

Minerva grimaced.

"In some cases, it is... difficult when one sibling has magic and the other does not. It would be wise to think on it some before telling her."

"Jazz wouldn't get jealous," Danny blurted out unthinkingly, and blushed when all the attention was turned back to him. "I mean, she'd probably just psychoanalyze her own feelings about it or something like that..." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

Something akin to relief spread itself onto Minerva's face.

"If that is the case, then I'm glad for you," she said, and turned back to the adults. "Anyhow, I'm afraid I must be leaving now. If you have need of assistance, follow the map, and I'm sure Tom at the Leaky Cauldron will be more than happy to help."

As one, everybody began shuffling to the front door.

"Once again, thank you for all the help," Maddie said. "I'm glad someone like you is a teacher at a school my son might go to."

Danny froze.

"It was my pleasure," Minerva said warmly. "Until next week!" And she stepped out through the door, the Fenton family calling out their goodbyes.

When Danny was sure she was long gone, he expressed his sentiments very clearly.

"She was a _teacher_?"

Oh, boy. She had almost seen his _room_.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

The next week, while supposed to be a relaxing summer break, was in reality an agony of indecision and inner turmoil. They had told Jazz as soon as possible, but her "advice" hadn't helped much for Danny to come to a decision.

The bare bones of the matter was that he felt guilty either way. Guilty for wasting such a wonderful opportunity, and guilty for leaving his parents without him for so long. He thought he knew what that pleading look on his mother's face now meant, having gone of it constantly in his mind. She didn't want him to leave.

But then, he kind of _wanted_ to leave.

London had never truly become his home. Every time he'd look outside, the trees were wrong, the sky was wrong, the _stars_ were wrong. And he would know, seeing how much time he spent staring at them. At one moment he would seem to catch a glimpse of Amity Park here, and then everything just seemed so wrong.

It was one such moment that he was sitting outside stargazing, waiting for a magic solution to appear and satisfy everybody. The irony was that it was _magic_ that had caused the need for a decision in the first place.

He wished he could just be up in the stars. To live his dream, as an astronaut. Where none of these human problems could touch him.


	2. Humanity: Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you for all the kind support! And a special thanks to my beta, GraySnowie who discovered many typos hidden amongst all the white and black pixels, and cleaned up my some of my writing :)

Chapter Two

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Diagon Alley was a magical paradise. Even to this day, the memory of it remains firm in my mind. My first glimpse holds a special place in my memories, my first true experience with magic.

Ah, I must go now. My wife is calling for me.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Too soon came the Day of Decision. Minerva McGonagall would be arriving in exactly twenty-four hours.

Danny had never felt more sick in his life. His stomach churned; he could feel a headache coming on. He simply felt _awful_.

"Danny!" His mother called from downstairs. He groaned, placing his head in his hands. "Let's go shopping!"

"Now?" he moaned, loud enough that his mother downstairs would hear. "I don't feel too good."

"Daniel James Fenton!" The sound of stomping on the stairs. Uh-oh, she was coming up. "You've been saying that for five days now already!"

And the door opened. He winced at the waft of fresh air that entered behind the glorious sight of his mother, who was for once, not wearing her jumpsuit.

" _Mo_ - _om_ ," he whined. "I really don't want to go."

"Really?" She cocked an eyebrow. "You don't want to go to the paramount of magic in the entire county of Great Britain? A place infested by wizards? Where you could get a _wand_?"

Her tone, was perhaps not the most favorable to wizardingkind, but the words were enough to entice Danny. Some of the dizziness seemed to fade away and he brightened.

Right. A _wand_. (And in his mind the word held a sort of holy devotion to it, rather than the more nasty sort of emphasis his mother had placed on it.)

"Well, when you put it that way..." He looked up and pretended to think very hard, placing a hand on his chin. Then struggled to hide his grin. "I'd _consider_ going."

Maddie sighed. "Danny..."

"Oh, alright!" He jumped off his bed with much more alacrity than he should've managed in his "sick" state. "Let's go, alright?"

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Maddie said, and there was just the hint of amusement in her voice that made him turn around to examine her suspiciously.

"Are you saying I faked it?" Danny scowled. He still did feel that sick churning feeling in his stomach, he really did.

"No," she denied, but Danny could see the laughter in her eyes. "I'm just glad you're feeling better."

"If you say so," he said dubiously, and so made very certain of himself to trudge down the stairs rather than skip merrily down like he really wanted to. From behind him, he could hear a soft chuckle.

Once they were strapped in and situated into the car, the real fun started. Mom had never been a good driver – although she was slightly better than Jack, admittedly – and a year apparently hadn't been enough to get used to Britain's "crazy counterintuitive driving on the left side of the road!" as Maddie had muttered vehemently under her breath so often. It was only made worse that she wasn't familiar with the route, and it was her eleven year old son calling out the directions.

"Okay, so turn left here... No, wait!" Danny lifted both hands up into L shapes and looked at which hand actually formed the L, then compared it to the map. He dimly noticed a sharp jerk of the car as he focused on interpreting the directions. "Yeah, it's left."

"Sweetie, we already missed it," his mother said, in a very strained voice. Danny looked up at her with wide unblinking eyes, and grinned sheepishly.

"You know, I think if we just continued going forward there's an alternative route..." he offered.

"I think I'll take my chances with the U turn."

And so it was that a couple of angry honks later and skewed traffic lights, they made it to their destination: the Leaky Cauldron. The outside of the... tavern, was it? – was quite decrepit, with with visible signs of dust and rust.. Danny glanced up to his mom, whose lips were pursed tight as a taut rope.

"Er... Is this the right place?" he asked, looking around nervously. "It just doesn't seem, you know, established enough." His mother nodded in agreement.

"Maybe... I suppose we can walk around a bit and see if anything is more –"

"Wait!" Danny had just caught sight of a small sign hung on the entrance door and skipped towards it eagerly. "This _is_ the right place! See look, it says so right here!"

But when he turned back to look, his mother's eyes were wide with alarm.

"Danny, come back here!"

Confused, he glanced around to see if anyone strange was around them. Nope, they were alone.

"Mom?" he said quizzically, but she marched up to him and dragged him away from the entrance.

"Danny!" she scolded, face pale. "Don't go in there! That building could have collapsed on you at any moment!"

He stretched his neck around to look at the tavern once more. Collapsed on him? No, it wasn't in its best state, but it wasn't _that_ bad. Maybe a bit rusty, but definitely not breaking down and rotting.

So he told his mother just that.

"Are you sure?" she asked with narrowed eyes, shrewd and calculating. "You see a normal, _not_ rundown building right there?"

He nodded uncertainty, and she sighed.

"Alright. Show me where the door is, but _do not_ , under any circumstances, come any closer until I say it's all right. Me, not anybody else, got that?"

Danny nodded again.

"So where do you see the door?"

Meekly, and more than a little bit confused, he stepped forward, stopped, and then pointed to the door. It seemed to be enough for Maddie, for she strode forward in that direction confidently, albeit casting nervous glances upwards at something that just wasn't there. Finally, she reached it, and with a hesitant shove, and then a harder push, the door opened.

Suddenly, a look of wonder passed over his mother's face.

"Come on, Danny!" she laughed. "It's fine! Come on in!"

Danny, rather disgruntled by the entire event, followed his mother in to dim lights and a cozy, although slightly shabby atmosphere. At the bar counter was a balding man with a pensive look on his face, absentmindedly wiping down a mug.

When he saw he had customers, that look soon transformed into a wide grin.

"Welcome! Now, would you be heading straight off to Diagon Alley, or would you like a run down about the magic world with a meal to go with it first? You look a bit frazzled, if I am allowed to say."

And suddenly Maddie was in her home environment.

"Oh, that would be wonderful!" she laughed. "This whole business with magic has been very confusing for us, I have to admit. Any information would help a lot. And the food, of course, would also be welcome."

"I'm glad to help." The man set down the mug and dish rag. "You can call me Tom, if you need anything. We have a great variety of foods here: soup, soup, and soups," he said, gesturing towards a very large portion of the chalkboard to his left, "as well as some pies and roast hog, if any of that would interest you."

Danny stared at the chalkboard in stupefaction, even as his mother laughed. Variety of foods? But really, most of what was on there was some variety of leaky soup...

Oh. Of course. The man was joking.

"What's a sickle?" he asked suddenly, and cringed at how badly the question had fit into the smooth flow of conversation ongoing. "I mean... It's on the board?"

The man didn't fail to give another smile for his trouble.

"Ah, well, we have another system of currency in the Wizarding World. You'll have to go to Gringotts in Diagon Alley to exchange some of your muggle money to galleons, sickles, and knuts. Don't worry though, this meal is on the house." He smiled again.

"And how exactly does the system of exchange work?" Maddie asked. "I assume muggle money means what we usually use here in Britain."

"Exactly. The exchange rate is approximately five pounds per galleon, our biggest unit of currency. 17 sickles are in a galleon, and 29 knuts in a sickle."

Mom put on her thinking face.

"And how many galleons, approximately, would we need to purchase adequate supplies for the school year?"

"Perhaps 20 galleons, if you are frugal with your money." The answer came so quickly it was obvious he had answered this question before. "Much more if you aren't."

Maddie frowned at the price, calculations whirling through her head as fast as thought.

"I... see. And if someone were merely to buy a wand?" Tom looked at her in surprise, glancing to Danny.

"Seven galleons, usually. But... if you are to attend Hogwarts, I assure you, you will need all the supplies. The next years will likely be lighter on the purse, but..." He trailed off.

"I'm not sure I want to go." Danny regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, especially by the shocked expression on Tom's face. He fumbled for words. "It's just that..." And gave up, looking up into the man's eyes helplessly.

"Ah, I see," the man said, and all traces of shock were now gone. "You moved to England recently, didn't you?" He nodded, and was aware of his mother watching him very closely. "It can be difficult to move from one environment to another so quickly. So perhaps that is what is worrying you?"

And suddenly, it felt like the nail had been hit directly on its head. It wasn't guilt tying him home after all. It was fear that one move would be just as life-changing as the last. Would he be able to find new friends again? He wanted to learn magic perhaps, but was it really worth the risk of losing his new place in the world?

He felt his mother's hand press on his shoulder, and looked up to see her smiling face. She squeezed. "Hey, I know it'll be fine either way."

And just like that, he made his decision.

"I don't want to go," he announced, petulantly crossing his arms. "Family's more important." And he could almost see the relief cross his mother's face.

Tom, however, was more skeptical.

"I would give the Wizarding World a bigger chance than that, if I were you, kid. Hogwarts is an opportunity not many get." He paused for a moment, seemed to struggle with something, and then sighed. "Anyway, what would you like to eat?"

The next half hour passed in a strange mix of unspoken tension and relaxation. Mom still chatted casually with the bartender about the Wizarding World, but even Danny noticed the strained way she looked at him. Somehow, his decision had caused his mother to develop a dislike to the man. A shame, really, since he seemed so friendly.

The food, too, was good. He had ordered the "leaky leaky soup," and despite the unappetizing name, it had tasted pretty good. _Like the Nasty Burger back at Amity_ , a nostalgic part of him reminisced, and he winced at the sudden homesickness that suddenly filled him. Hadn't a year been long enough already?

But soon it was time to leave the Leaky Cauldron and venture into the magical world.

Tom led them through the back of his shop to a brick alley. After tapping some bricks, a grand entrance formed right in front of their eyes. And behind it –

Magic.

It was the only way to sufficiently describe the wonder that was Diagon Alley. It was every fairy tale combined together, every hope and dream a child could have come true. Broomsticks, cauldrons of gold. Intriguing potions ingredients laid out in one side. Danny was sure his eyes were like saucers as he stared through that brick archway.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley!" Tom laughed, delighting in their expressions. "You'll be wanting to go to Gringotts, just down at the bend of the street. When you get back, the archway will still be open. Good luck!" And he turned back to enter his tavern once more.

The two Fentons were more than happy to begin their explorations. Wonder after wonder emerged and they never failed to delight. One hour in, and they hadn't even looked at the school checklist yet, simply going down the street to Gringotts, and occasionally – well, all the time really – stopping when something caught their eye.

The bank itself was very impressive once they reached it. Large and solid. And up the white marble steps, in front of the silvery doors, dressed in gold and scarlet, was a...

A thing, Danny decided, was the politest way to put it, because there was no way that was human. Short, stubby, and gnarly with disproportionately long fingers and feet – and not to mention the _ears_ – the creature simply did not look natural.

And because of the height of the stairs, the thing looked down upon him.

"Muggleborn?" it said, and to Danny's untrained ear, it bespoke condescension. The thing was _literally looking down upon him_ , and _what the heck, he didn't even know what "Muggleborn" meant._

He had to give credit, however, to his mother. She didn't look fazed in the slightest, walked up the stairs, and shook the thing's hand with a friendly smile. Danny nervously trailed after her.

"Maddie Fenton. I'm afraid I am indeed a Muggle, and so I really don't know what to do. The man at the Leaky Cauldron said there was a way to exchange our money for... err... galleons?"

If Danny had been older and more learned in the ways of goblinkind, he would have recognized the strange bemused twitch of the lips of the goblin as a smile. He did not, however, and instead, shrunk into himself in... confusion? fear? revulsion? He didn't know himself.

"I am Gornuk," the strange creature said proudly, though the nasally tint clouding his voice made it seem like arrogance. "One of the goblins whose loyalty creates the strength of this bank. _Fortius quo fidelius._ " He bowed, looking almost comical with his diminutive frame, and open the grand silver doors with what seemed like very little effort. "The exchange desk is immediately to your right."

A smile quirked his mother's lips. "Thank you." And once they were inside, she turned to him. "I'm officially impressed. These wizards..." She shook her head, and quite obviously drank in the site of the interior of the bank with great relish. An ornate chandelier hung from the roof, and the desks were fine mahogany. The air too had a fresh, yet homely feel, as if they were in a worn-out cabin in the woods. Goblins – or so he assumed they were goblin's from that creature's speech at the door – scurried around everywhere, talking and leading around humans dressed like the wizards in fairy tales.

They quickly found the exchange desk, for there it was clearly labeled in a large sign for all to see: "CURRENCY EXCHANGE DESK."

"Hello," Maddie began as soon as the goblin looked up from the paperwork set on his fine desk. "We'd like to exchange some of our money to the wizarding currency?"

Honestly, it was just like when they first arrived to Britain. All the boring money-exchanging stuff. Danny was quickly spacing out, and it was only when the gold was brought out when he started to get interested.

"Whoa," he said, eyes wide. "Is that actual gold?"

The creature's mouth was pursed in disapproval, and Maddie shot him a look. He gulped.

"Yes, it is 'actual gold'," it said mockingly (or so he thought), pulling the gold toward itself and wrapping it into a neat package. "The coins are minted however, so it would not be wise to spread them among Muggles lest you wish to break the International Statute of Secrecy." The emphasized sneer told what exactly the goblin thought about the "statute."

Danny didn't know what minted meant, but this time, he stayed quiet about it.

"Ah, I see." His mother was careful to keep her expression neutral as the creature pushed over the pouch of gold over to her. She soon tucked it into her purse, the Muggle money already handed over. "Thank you for all the help."

The goblin bowed his head. "Of course."

And so, slightly unnerved, Danny (along with his mother of course) reentered the wonders of Diagon Alley, but this time with money that could actually buy all the wonderful merchandise displayed.

... Unfortunately however, his mother had only drawn out the twenty galleons Tom had recommended, and was adamant in refusing to buy anything extra.

"But why not?" Danny whined, pointing at a rather ragged old box with the title "Snitch Snatchers!" proudly displayed on the cover. The shop merchant watched the conversation with what seemed to be a fond smile.

"Danny, we're here to get your school supplies. That first, and if we have money left to spend, we can always come back." Even so, she gave a doubtful look at the item of his attention.

Danny pouted. The logical was far too sound for his liking. With a last regretful glance, he left what he was sure would've been an enlightening experience of the wizarding world culture.

... And the board game had looked kind of fun too, if he was honest with himself. There were pictures of flying brooms and a golden "snitch" –

Just then, something else caught his attention. This time, it seemed to be an _actual flying broom_ , and he was quaking in his boots because he wanted it so bad

His mother said no. He begged with large eyes. They moved on. He found another object of obsession. The cycle repeated itself until finally they reached their destination: Ollivander's Wand Shop.

Like much of the wizarding world, it had a certain rough charm to it. Dusty old wooden building? Who wouldn't want to just march right in?

And so it was that with not a very small amount of trepidation, mother and son walked into the store.

"Hello?" Maddie's voice called out, and even Danny could hear the discomfort in own neck prickled with an uneasy feeling. "Is anybody – gah!"

How she had hidden the ectogun with her the entire trip, Danny would never know.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands, feeling like he would die of mortification. Even in the wizarding world, his parents would always just be, well... his embarrassing parents.

"Rather curious," a soft voice spoke into the rather awkward silence, making Danny look up in surprise. The man his mother had pointed her gun at did not look alarmed at all; instead his strangely bright eyes and stark white hair painted a picture of intellectual bewonderment. "Might I ask what exactly is the purpose of this contraption?"

His mother had the grace to blush and lower the gun.

"It's an ectogun," she explained, and seeing the blank look on his face, elaborated, "A gu – device that can shoot ectoplasm at ghosts."

"But why on earth would you want to shoot ghosts?" The man – Mr. Ollivander, for who else could he be? – was confused, but Maddie's face brightened up at his words.

"You have ghosts here? Where?" She spun around, ectogun once again cautiously raised as if one would just appear now that she had finally asked. Danny had to resist the urge to bury his face in his palms once again.

"Er, no. Not here." Ollivander cleared his throat, suddenly looking rather nonplussed. "Would you be wanting to buy a wand?"

"Oh!" Maddie looked truly surprised, as if she had forgotten already. The ectogun disappeared into who-knows-where, and a sort of awkwardness suddenly coated her movements, as if she realized just how not normal this all was. "Well, um, I suppose…" She glanced around the shop, finally taking in all the _boxes_ , and seemed at a loss for what to say. Danny decided to put her out of her misery.

"So how does this work?" he said, as casually as he could manage. The man's attention turned to him, and he had to struggle not to fidget. A ghost of a smile crossed the stranger's lips.

"Ah, of course, of course. Muggleborn, are you? There will be no famed selection, of wands I'm afraid, for it is as you will see, the wand chooses the wizard. Hold up your wand arm."

Quizzically, Danny held up his right hand, for he was at least bright enough to recognize that "wand hand" likely meant "writing hand." He wondered about the man's words however, casting a curious gaze once more at the "wands." They chose _him_? Could they think?

He felt an eager sense of anticipation, and felt himself stand lighter onto his toes. He was going to get a _wand_. He was a _wizard_ –

And then a tape measurer, unaided by nothing but air, flew past his nose and began measure his arm, his head, his ears. He stared at it in stupefaction, jaw dropping.

 _So. Cool._

And to think, that he, little freak kid Danny Fenton, would be able to do that one day. He lifted his eyes back towards the man, eyes wide with wonder. He had missed how his mom had stiffened at the whole affair.

"How did you do that?" he asked in jealous awe. Ollivander smiled indulgently, but his eyes were distracted, watching the tape measurer with surprising alacrity. The man was soon deep into his own store, the shuffling sound of boxes being moved accompanying the resonating reply.

"It is magic, Mister..." His voice trailed off.

Danny peered around the edges of the shelves curiously at the man. He was now on a rickety tall later, rapidly sifting through piles of boxes that somehow managed to stay straight and upright even as the man jerked them around.

"Fenton," he said after there was a pause long enough to seem awkward to him. The wandmaker however, Danny thought, had probably not noticed at all, so intense was he concentrated on his work.

"Mr. Fenton," Ollivander continued seamlessly. "Magic you will, I hope, learn soon in Hogwarts." Danny shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if this man somehow _knew_. "But of course, you would need a wand in order to perform it. Would you happen to know how wands are created?"

Danny blinked. Why on earth – ? He hadn't even _known_ magic existed two weeks ago.

"Er, no."

Ollivander climbed down the ladder with alarming speed, and he worried for a moment that the old man would fall. Instead, the man landed on his feet lightly, left arm stacked with two small boxes, pushed the ladder over, and resumed his search.

"Every wand has its own unique properties. In our wands, however, we use only the three most effective materials as cores: unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, and Phoenix feathers. From there, each wand is paired with a wood type, each with its own temperament." He picked up another box and scampered down, finally turning to look at Danny.

Danny felt like a fish, with all the times his mouth had just popped open today. Was this another wonder of magic, or simply an old man's surprising spryness.

"Dragons exist?" His mind chose to fixate on the most _badass_ thing he had heard about magic so far. He spared a glance at his mother, who looked just as shocked as him, although that might've just been her expression the entire time during the venture into the Wizarding World. He grinned. "Whoa."

Ollivander smiled once again, and Danny found he liked the ways the crinkles shaped his old face, making it seem come to life along with that driven intensity in his eyes. "Unicorns, as well," he said, and the inflection of his voice seemed to invite Danny into some sort of inside joke.

He beamed at the wandmaker.

Suddenly the tape measurer that he had already forgotten about – _how was he becoming so accustomed to this magical world so fast?_ – dropped to the floor with a clutter. The moment was broken, and the man stepped forward with a pile of three boxes in his arms.

"These are the wands most likely to choose you, I would think. Here, give this one a wave and see how it feels. "

Danny tentatively took the stick into his hand, then was flustered because it was immediately obvious he had taken it from the wrong end. He flipped it over when –

"Ah, no." The wandmaker who had just a moment ago been watching him with such an expectant gaze, quickly snatched the wand out of his hand. Danny attempted to give a cry of protest, but before his mouth opened another wand was pushed into his hands. "Try this one – ash wood with unicorn hair, eight inches. Stubbornly rigid to go with the ash."

The wandmaker looked rather pleased with himself when there was an immediate reaction, sparks of green and white shooting from the edge of the wand as he waved it.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "I was right about you. I'm sure you'll turn out to be a great wizard, Mr. Fenton. However –" and here he looked quite stern, "you must be aware that mistreating this wand will have great consequences. This combination of unicorn hair and ash wood is very potent: faithful to its master, but grows quickly despondent at mistreatment. Passing this wand to another would be a great mistake."

Danny nodded, feeling dazed. There seemed to be a warmth in the pit of his stomach that he somehow knew came from holding the wand, _his_ wand, and he wondered why anyone would _ever_ mistreat a wand. He resolved to be a good caretaker of his new-found friend.

"Do I need to do anything to take care of... the wand?"

And the wandmaker abruptly burst into a grin, looking absolutely delighted. Danny wondered if nobody had ever asked this of him before, and looked down at his wand, held loosely in his right hand, pensively.

"Of course!" He set down the remaining wand box in the spindly chair with the opened one, and gave the case for Danny's own wand to him. "Most of the supplies are in the back; if you'd just wait a moment for me –" And he scurried off, excitement bouncing off in every step.

Danny nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Danny," his mom said, and he craned his head back to see the earnest smile on her face. "I know all of this has been very strange for all of us, but you have been very open-minded and gracious with everybody here."

She bent down and gave him a quick kiss of his cheek, from mother to son, and Danny had to fight the rising blush that was surely appearing on his face as he rubbed his cheek, half mortified but secretly elated at the compliment.

"Thanks, Mom," he muttered, trying not to look at her, and she laughed softly.

"Well, it looks like Mr. Ollivander is back now."

And indeed he was. Danny quickly spun around, trying to hide all evidence of what had just occurred. He _liked_ Mr. Ollivander; he didn't want him to see him as nothing more than a child.

"H-hello," he stammered, feeling a bit angry at himself. Then his eyes widened upon seeing the supplies – a clean dish rag, wood polish, a brush, and some cotton.

He had to admit he was disappointed at the supplies for just being so frustratingly _mundane_. Ollivander didn't seem to notice however, too caught up in his enthusiasm, and pushed the item into his hands. Then, seemingly from nowhere, he set a book to top off the pile, labeled "Everything to Know About Wand Polishing." Danny thought that maybe the strangeness of having an entire book about _wand_ polishing was perhaps enough to offset the disappointment of the materials.

"This should be everything you need for keeping up with your wand," Ollivander hummed happily. "All free, for the sake of your wand, you understand." He smiled, and Danny tried his hardest to return it. "The wand, however, will be 12 galleons."

"Twelve?" Maddie was surprised. "I thought it was supposed to only be seven." And Ollivander's presence was suddenly whisked away from him.

"Ah, yes, that would be correct for most wands," the wandmaker said. "However, I'm afraid that unicorn hair is a bit more expensive than the other two wand cores, and thus the price had to be raised accordingly. Are you still able to pay for the wand?" He was not so subtly inquiring about their financial circumstances, head cocked to the side curiously, like an owl with those strange bright eyes now focused on his mother.

"Um, yes." Maddie drew out the pouch the goblin at Gringotts had given her early and carefully counted out twelve gold coins before handing them over. Ollivander accepted them graciously.

"I wish you a pleasant entrance into our Wizarding World," he said earnestly, and then added almost jokingly, "but I must admit that I hope our ghosts stay safe from you."

Maddie gave a sort of embarrassed chuckle, but Danny did not miss the way her hand immediately moved to her back, as if to upholster a gun, at the mere mention of ghosts.

"I'm not so sure I agree," she said, and there was a pause. Ollivander looked towards Danny, and seemed to notice the load that he carried in his arms.

"Would you like an extension bad to carry that? I'm afraid that'll cost a galleon more, but they are dreadfully useful things..." His mother narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the wandmaker, but with a glance at her son, acquiesced.

"That would be wonderful."

One galleon less, one extension bag more, and ten minutes later, they were leaving the shop. Danny glanced back at the strangely charming entrance, feeling something twist inside of him at the remembrance of the magic he had seen.

"So," he said without an ounce of that regret in his voice, "What are we going to buy next?"


	3. Humanity: Chapter 3

A/N: I am... unsure if my beta has looked at this chapter yet. I know she went back and fixed some stuff last chapter after I posted it, so hopefully the typos will be fixed sometime soon in that case. Anyhow, since I'm an impatient person who is too lazy to proofread and revise herself, here's the next chapter, unedited but coming faster! Hehe, sorry about that. (No shame.)

Chapter Three

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

The Day of Decision. Oh, how I remember fussing and agonizing over the simple decision to go to Hogwarts or not. Well, I suppose it is only in retrospect that it seems simple; any other option than the one I had taken would likely not have ended well. I would not be the person I am today.

But then, who am I? This question is the debate of many philosophers, none of which have a real answer. The question of identity is unanswerable, I think. It changes and warps and does unbelievable things to suit to times. But even that creates a misconception. There is no external being or factor called "identity." In the moment, it is our decisions and actions that matter, not what we identify ourselves as. That comes later, when we have enough experience to decide these matters. Or so I believe.

I have gotten distracted again. I must apologize for that; I fear old age has addled me. Or maybe that was simply the result of all the knocks to my brain that I had suffered through in my voracious youth.

Enough of these commiserations. Let us talk of the Day of Decision.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Today was the day. Minerva McGonagall, as Danny had learned her full name was, would be arriving in just ten minutes, if the message the owl that had flown into his room last night was correct. This time, the owl had been as bald as the hair on a coconut with the pink skin of a newborn babe, and Danny had to wonder in what condition these wizards kept the owls in. Or if they were naturally like this.

 _Maybe I could start a "Save-the-Owls" movement_ , he mused, thinking of an old friend from America. He still played video games with her along with Tucker, but he barely remembered her name. It started with an _s_ , right? Good thing he only ever talked with her over Doomed, and they weren't supposed to use their real names online.

He sighed. He was only delaying this. He should really just go downstairs and get ready, prepare himself for the disappointment he knew was going to

His thoughts sputtered to a stop, and he felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. He was getting cold feet. Now? Why now? Finally he reached a decision, and it should have been easier after that – everybody said so – but all he felt was a looming wall overshadowing him, an irreversible decision with lasting consequences.

Strange. He had never felt like this before.

He considered it then, that strange feeling arising in him. He was conflicted, obviously. Magic seemed cool, but he didn't want to see his mother angry and disappointed at him. He knew Jazz would've been proud of him then, analyzing his own thoughts and feels for once.

No. Darn it. He got distracted already.

"Danny!" Mom's voice called. "Wake up! Minerva's going to be here soon!"

"I'm awake!" he called back, then thought about breakfast. The doorbell rang the moment he had stood up from his lackadaisical resting position on the bed. He groaned, and rushed down the stairs, feet colliding heavily as he let his weight carry him down each step, subtly stretching to wake himself up as his eyes remained glued to the door.

Day of Decision. Time to choose.

If anything, the sensation grew worse. He felt physically sick. Hundreds of possibilities rushed through his mind, each more horrifying than the last. Perhaps some excuses among them – something terrible happened and he couldn't decide today, perhaps some more time, sorry?, he was sick, unpresentable, a family death –

His mother opened the door.

"Hello!"

He abruptly realized it was raining, for he couldn't hear the woman who was surely at the door, who was surely just about to collect his answer at last, and he found it fitting that it would rain to match his glum mood.

 _But why, oh why, didn't it at least slow her down?_

The answer was, obviously enough, magic. The woman still had her wand outed she stepped into the house. What, could wizards teleport? He wanted to learn how to teleport. It sounded really, really cool. But if he didn't go to Hogwarts, would he learn how to teleport?

Too soon, he reached the end of the stairs to where his mother and Minerva McGonagall would be waiting. He knew his sister and father were waiting in the living room for them all. It had been agreed the previous night that it would be a family meeting.

"Hello." He stared awkwardly at the woman and watched in trepidation as her lips curved into a smile.

"Hello," she replied.

The tense pause (or so it seemed tense to him) that followed was the single most terrifying moment of his life.

And then it was over. "Come in, come in!" Maddie gesticulated, leading the woman to where the rest of the family would be waiting. She followed, looking slightly bemused and more than slightly exhausted. Even Danny noticed the black circles under her eyes.

The living room was spacious, with a large couch facing the television screen. A glass coffee table stood in front of it, and it was only because he knew the clear solid was heavily reinforced that he was not surprised that the table had not broken yet in the year they had moved into the house. Two chairs were pulled over on the opposite side of the couch for the occasion, and Danny had to face the awkward indecision of attempting to squeeze next to the rest of his family – a near impossibility due to the size of his dad – and leaving one chair empty, or to sit next to Minerva McGonagall.

He chose the latter, if only because he recognized the difficulty of the first, and regretted it only ten seconds after he sat down, fidgeting at brushing too close to whom would not be his teacher. Or maybe she would. The queasiness grew.

"You must be Jasmine." He nearly jumped at how loud her voice was, and he stared at her too long as she stretched her hand across the table to his sister. Jazz took it graciously, with a smile and quick response.

"Oh, would you like something to eat?" Maddie said, when the exchange was over. "Cookies, perhaps? I can make tea, if you want."

It was a completely different environment from the first time, almost cozy. As if a normal house guest were visiting.

"Yes, thank you," and there was a genuineness to McGonagall's voice, "that would be much appreciated."

And so the conversationalist left, leaving Jack Fenton, Jazz, Danny, and McGonagall all at one table. Predictably, there was a silence, until Jack was the one to break it.

"So," he said with a large grin, albeit slightly sheepish, "Would you like to hear me blather on about ghosts?"

Danny fought off a grown, and Jazz didn't even try, scoffing and rolling her eyes. "Dad, she doesn't want to hear about ghosts." Then she seemed to regain her standing and coughed conscientiously, "I mean, you don't want to hear about ghosts, do you?"

"I think I had heard quite enough last week," she said, and it seemed to be in wry amusement. "But I haven't heard very much from you about it yet, Mr. Fenton." For a second, all was fine and she seemed to be referring to his dad, but after an unexpected pause (for he had thought his dad would immediately launch into explanation), he realized everybody was looking at him.

He opened his mouth. His brain blanked.

"I – uh." What had she asked again? "I –" His mind desperately latched onto a piece of information that he heard just yesterday – "Don't ghosts exist in the magical world?"

To his relief, it was over. The woman smiled. It seemed to have been the correct response.

"Ghosts?" then his father boomed. He seemed surprised. "In the magical world? But..." He trailed off, and the confusion that contorted his face didn't seem to fit the simple man that was Jack Fenton.

"Ah, yes," she said, seeming rather uncomfortable, "when a wizard dies, they get a choice. To live as a pale imitation of who they were in life, or to move on. Why a ghost becomes a ghost, however, is not something to be breached lightly." She paused, and looked towards Danny. "You will likely be seeing many of them in Hogwarts." Danny felt a chill, and it wasn't due to the topic of conversation.

"Quite fascinating." Everybody looked up as Maddie reentered the room, a tray filled with cookies resting in her mitten-covered hands. She set it down on the table, and Danny immediately grabbed one, relieved at the excuse to do something. "What do they look like? Do they have any ectoplasmic properties?"

"Ectoplasm?" McGonagall seemed puzzled. "I do not believe so... but the ghosts are often silvery and translucent, and able to walk through walls. I don't think they can even materialize solidly, to be honest."

Jack and Maddie traded significant looks.

"I see." A lull in conversation, and Danny bit into his cookie, pleasantly surprised to find no extra metallic tang in the warm flavorful goodness. Despite how sick he was feeling, he managed to eat it all. "Would you –"

It was then that the tea kettle began to whistle. Maddie ran back to the kitchen, and in a few moments the infernal sound was silenced. The four waited as she returned with cups in one round, and with a large tea pot the next.

She poured McGonagall's first, as she was the guest, and went in a circle after that. While waiting for his tea to cool down, Danny grabbed another cookie. Soon they were all situated again, and suddenly the atmosphere changed.

Down to business.

"So," Maddie began, and Danny felt so strange sitting by this stranger rather than by his family, "We need to come to a decision of whether or not Danny is going to Hogwarts."

McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line, and once again, Danny noticed just how tired she looked.

"Does Danny want to go?"

And there it was. The Moment of Decision. It was so much worse than the Day.

He opened his mouth, intending to speak. But to say what? What he had told his mother just yesterday? Or to make an irreversible decision to just leave?

But he could learn magic.

"He told me he didn't want to go," his mother said, watching him carefully.

The opportunity had slipped away. His mouth shut close with a snap.

"But I'm not sure if he really meant that."

Danny gawked at his mother. What was she saying? Didn't she want him to stay?

And then he suddenly realized what she was offering him. What this really meant. She wouldn't be angry. She wouldn't be angry. What had Dad said before? _"We'll support you in whatever you decide."_

His eyes met Jazz. His annoyingly smart sister had that smug expression on her, as if she'd been proved right about something. He wondered what that something was.

And decided it didn't matter.

"I want to go," he said, and his voice came out far too quiet for his liking. "I want to go," he repeated louder, and Professor McGonagall smiled.

The next hour was full of explanations. McGonagall explained that the school year started on September 1st and that he would be getting there by train, but she could pick him up if they so wished (they didn't). She explained that he would be coming home for the Holidays – Christmas Break and the summer – if they wished (they did), and they could send letters to him via owl in the meantime and that technology didn't work at the school. She explained what he would be learning, of the four houses of Hogwarts (Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, Hufflepuff for the loyal, and Slytherin for the ambitious), and of the history of the magical world, especially in light of the more recent wars. Of the celebrity that was going to be attending this year of school with him. And finally, of Diagon Alley.

"And of course," she said, "you will be needing to get your school supplies."

"I already got my wand," he blurted out, and she looked delightedly surprised.

"You've already gone to Diagon Alley? I was intending to escort you there for the first time, but if you already managed to reach Diagon Alley yourself I see it's not necessary. I'm glad you were able to find it without too much difficulty."

When McGonagall was sure the family knew all about the situation there was to know, she left. Everybody seemed content with how the morning had went, Danny not least of all. He was greatly enthused at the idea of magic, and was gladdened at discovering the same enthusiasm in Jazz. They conversed about it excitedly for the rest of the day, which later had somehow devolved into a game of tag and generally messing around. Maddie had come around once to scold them for the mess they were making, but she didn't sound very upset about it.

 _It had been a very good day_ , Danny decided as he pulled the warm covers over him and snuggled into his bed.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Light filtered in through the uncovered window, warm and crisp. He yawned and stretched as he trudged to the bathroom, feeling a deep need to pee. So he let go, and wondered at the warm sensation that covered his legs.

And with a sudden jolt of horror, he stood up from his bed, and knew.

Oh god. He had peed in his bed, like a little kid. That hadn't happened in _ages_.

He needed to cover the evidence. All the evidence. Get rid of it! Quick, quick! He rushed to the bathroom and pulled out a towel, desperately rubbing at his linens.

"Danny, what are you doing?"

To his horror, Jazz was standing in the doorway, watching him.

"Nothing!" he lied quickly, jumping off the ground to stand in front of the mess. "Nothing at all." He chuckled nervously, because the butterflies in his stomach were making him feel lightheaded.

"You're such a bad liar," she scoffed, and pushed him aside. When she saw, her hand flew to her mouth, and to his deepest shame, she _laughed_.

"You – pff, Danny!"

Suddenly, there was another presence in the room,

"What's going on here? Dannyboy? Jazzypants?" It was his dad's looming face in the doorway, and Danny groaned, burying his face in his palms, feeling as if he would die of mortification.

"No, it's nothing, Dad, just – "

"Danny peed in his bed." Danny gaped at his sister, feeling betrayed.

"Jazz!" It was supposed to be some sort of sibling trust thing. How could she do his to him?

"Let me see." His dad was unusually grave as he approached, and Danny reluctantly let him pass. The man grinned upon seeing the mess.

"Wow, you made all of that, Danny?" His hand clapped Danny's back. "Nice work!"

"I didn't – I –" Danny sputtered, too completely and utterly embarrassed to reply. His face was turning an alarming shade of red. "It's not something to be proud of!"

"Is something the matter?" And to his utter dread, there stood the last member of the household, his mother. It was already bad enough that Jazz had seen it and told Dad, but if _everybody_ knew? He'd never be able to live it down.

He stomped out of his room and did his best to not look back.

"Danny?" His mother's hand brushed his shoulder, but he ignored it, instead hearing the teasing call of his older sister.

"But Danny, you haven't even cleaned up your mess yet!"

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

It's amazing how fast feelings can change. Just yesterday, he had been feeling perfectly content. And then this morning happened.

Breakfast had been humiliating. He could barely look anyone in the face when his sister told him promptly that she had cleaned up his mess for him, _out loud_. Unfortunately, everybody in the room already knew what she had been talking about.

Then Mom told him that they needed to go to Diagon Alley again.

"Not today, if you don't feel up to it," she said uncertainly. "It's been a busy week."

What he heard, hiding nastily under those pretty words, was an excuse for him to save face after peeing in his bed like a little boy, nice and gift-wrapped by his mother.

"I can go today," he said brusquely, face red. "I _want_ to go today."

So they went, and Jazz with them.

The door to the Leaky Cauldron was far easier to pass this time, although Jazz looked like a frightened deer as she passed through. Tom was surprised to see them again so soon, with another addition to the group.

"You'll have to learn which brick to tap if you keep this up," he joked goodnaturedly. "Here, it's this one – three up and two across from the bin." He gestured towards the trash can. "Always useful to know."

The barkeeper had seemed glad to know Danny had changed his mind about going to Hogwarts. He had been even more delighted to meet his sister, as smart and kind as she seemed. Danny had groused to himself a bit about that afterwards, but any bitter feelings were gone the moment he saw her expression as she stepped into Diagon Alley.

"Still think it's a hoax?" Time for some payback for that "incident" in the morning.

She didn't even seem affected by it.

"Wow." She paused, gaze roaming crossed the street. "Wow," she repeated.

Danny gave up.

"Yeah, it's nice isn't it?" He was surprised when she turned to him with a large grin.

"Nice?" she repeated. "It's more than nice! It's, it's – " Rare were the times when Jasmine Fenton could not find the right word.

"Magical?" Danny said wryly, and she nodded fervently. "There's a bookstore, you know."

Jazz immediately turned big pleading eyes to their mother.

"Can we go there? _Please_?"

Maddie laughed, and ruffled her hair. Jazz made a half-hearted attempt at ducking that didn't seem to be noticed.

"We were going to go there anyway. Danny still needs to get all his supplies."

"You act like _I'm_ the one who didn't want to buy all the cool things on the list," he muttered, and once again laughter filled the air. He allowed himself a smile despite himself, for it wasn't really about the extra effort of going again to Diagon Alley, but about them all being together, sharing in the experience of _magic_. For indeed, it was magical.

Huh. Maybe he should become a philosopher. Or work on his puns. Either one would do.

"Come on, we'll go get your school clothes first."

And so they went to Madam Malkin's, the shop for young witches' and wizards' robes. The inside of the shop was fascinating, sterile and clean as opposed to the ramshackle whimsical order of the entire Alley. He soon found himself missing the homeliness of Ollivander's shop and the noise of Diagon Alley.

"Huh," said Jazz. "I wonder who that is?"

A girl of his age stood on the dais, looking terribly embarrassed as a woman flitted around her, taking measurements and pinning needles to the black fabric wrapped around her.

It was then that the woman seemed to notice them.

"Oh!" She looked delighted. "Welcome, welcome!" She extradited herself out from the layers of black cloth and patted the girl's shoulder. "Sorry, dear. I'll just be a moment." She then trotted to a door in the side, opened it wide, and then took a deep breath –

"Miss Malkin, there are more customers!" she called.

Soon an elegantly-dressed wizard was walking hastily through the door. Madam Malkin – for that was the name of the shop after all – visibly composed herself as her eyes roved curiously over the family. Her gaze paused on Danny, seemingly assessing him, before turning back to the other woman and the girl wrapped in black cloth, standing very sheepishly, as if wondering what to do.

Madam Malkin cleared her throat.

"I will take care of these people," she said primly, gesturing with to the Fentons with the slightest tilt of the head. "You may continue your work with Miss Granger." An elaborate hand gesture.

Suddenly, she turned to us, all pleasantries and smiles.

"Welcome! I must apologize for the inconvenience; we had not been expecting visitors until later in the summer. You understand, I hope?"

"No?" Too late, Danny realized it hadn't really been a question, and it hadn't been intended for him either. Fortunately, the woman did not remark on it, simply smiling kindly.

"Most students come to get their robes closer to the beginning of the school year. You are simply unusually early, as is Miss Granger here..." A curious expression crossed her face and she turned to Maddie. "Your son is here for robes for the first year of Hogwarts, correct? Standard, black?"

His mother nodded, and a bright smile lit the woman's face.

"Wonderful. Now, I would need to tailor the robes to fit, as my assistant is currently doing with Miss Granger. Would you mind if I took him aside for a few minutes to do so? I can conjure a chair for you and your daughter if you so wish."

"That would be perfect."

From a cleverly concealed pocket, the witch whipped out her wand. A few flicks, and suddenly there was a rather nice wood table, a tea set, and two chairs set around it. He heard a small sound rather like a whimper coming from Jazz, but when he turned to look at her, any surprise seemed to be completely wiped off her face.

"Thank you," Maddie said gratefully. "How much would this cost?"

"Five galleons," Madam Malkin answered promptly, "for three sets of robes that will last the entire seven years at Hogwarts, as well as the hat, protective gloves, and winter cloak. I charm them to grow with the wearer and remain clean, so unless your son suffers some mishap, I doubt you will need to replace them." She smiled. "But I doubt that will happen."

"Wow," he heard Jazz whisper quietly. He wasn't sure if she was impressed by the magic, the woman's presentation of the clothing, or both.

"Thank you," Maddie said again, and he couldn't help but notice how she didn't even protest at the cost like she had in Ollivander's, even though there were almost already out of the twenty galleons they had started with. "Should I pay you after we receive the robes?"

"That would do," answered Madam Malkin genially, before turning to Danny. "Come over here." She led him to the dais, next to where "Miss Granger" was being fitted. He shot a curious look at the girl, who was also staring at him, before fidgeting nervously. Malkin left to get more cloth.

"Hello," blurted the girl first, a fact that he was infinitesimally grateful for.

"Hello," he responded, just as awkwardly.

A pause. Madam Malkin returned, and he could feel himself flush red when she began measuring the cloth size around him. He thought he could feel the eyes of his mother, his sister, and the girl, boring into him.

He twitched, and felt the prick of a needle for it.

"Sorry," Madam Malkin muttered absentmindedly, and now he resolved to keep himself as still as possible.

Silence. He was all too aware of the girl's gaze on him. It became unbearable.

"So," he said, then flounder for anything, _anything_ to say. "Er... Magic's real."

It was such an embarrassingly stupid thing to say, because _of course magic is real, I'm going to go to a freaking magic school and so is she_ – but somehow, it made her break into a smile.

"You're Muggleborn?" she exclaimed, and for a moment all he wanted to do was curl into himself and forget to work but he couldn't because of that stupid needle, "You're like me!"

 _Like me._ He took a long moment to process that, mulling it over in his head before the meaning finally became so dazzlingly obvious.

"Oh." He said, feeling stupid for some reason. "You're Muggleborn too?"

And then it came to him. _She_ was Muggleborn too. _She_ didn't know anything about magic, just like him. _She was like him._

A bell chimed, and he was rudely shoved from his thoughts. He looked up to see a middle-aged couple enter the store.

"Hermione, we're back!" the man called out, and the girl's face turned a furious shade of red as she smiled, creating the impression that she was pleased but desperately didn't want to show it. The man's gaze swung to Danny. "Oh, do you have a new friend already?"

"Dad!" the girl protested, still blushing. "I don't – I don't even –"

Something called him to speak these words, words that he usually would've never dared to speak before in front of such strangers. What could he say? Magic was making him bold.

"I'm Danny Fenton." Oh, how the words came easily now. His last name, spoken with pride rather than embarrassment. "We can be friends now, right?"

He honestly didn't know what possessed him to ask the question of a stranger. It seemed to have been met with good reception, however. The girl was now bright pink.

"Of – of course!" she squeaked, then cleared her throat. Her eyes flickered to her parents for a moment. "Of course we can be friends," she said in a much calmer voice. "Er... I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know." Oh god, that was the worst, most stalkerish thing to ever say. He lost the strange confidence he had only moments earlier. "I – I mean, your parents just called you Hermione and... Um. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too," she said in the way children do when they try to act adult, firm and confident.

A pause.

"I'd shake your hand, but," she said, less awkwardly than before, "I really don't want to get hit by a pin."

He laughed, and suffered for it with exactly what she had feared. Hermione was much more fortunate, and in fact, the attendant had backed off and proclaimed her work done. Soon there was a girl, not wrapped in black cloth, but wearing regular clothes, standing in front of him. Somehow, he had become her friend.

How strange.


	4. Humanity: Chapter 4

A/N: I changed the summary. Any comments? Is it better? Worse? Eh?

I also put up a poll on my profile whether... Quirelldemort should be a thing (without this becoming a crack fic). Watch A Very Potter Musical, and you'll understand why this is even a question.

(I'm sorry, Graysnowie! I'm such a terrible person to beta for because I'm so impatient... I swear I'll update all these chapters later, when rhey've been properly edited...)

Chapter 4

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Jealousy is an interesting feeling, to say the least. Ugly and bitter like black coal, but also as sweet and nostalgic as a summer night's dream. Of course, in the moment, it seems anything but. Then, it is an angry, simmering pot, waiting for the final straw that would set it off.

Straws, pots. What does any of that matter for? Perhaps I should become a poet. At least I know Ghost Writer would be amused at the notion.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

It could only be described as misfortune that his first friend in this strange new world was indeed a bookworm. Jazz and Hermione had hit it off quickly, leaving Danny behind in the dust, feeling more than a bit bitter.

After Madam Malkin's, the two families had decided to join forces in order to navigate the currents of this strange magical world. They were both from a family of Muggles after all, and they had to stick together.

... Just like the brainiacs of the century apparently had to "stick together" as well.

No, Danny wasn't jealous at all. Just... bitter about it. Bitter and upset. But not jealous. What was there to be jealous of? His sister, who had just stolen his first friend in the magical world? His mom, who was looking like she was having a jolly good time of it with Hermione's parents? Hermione herself, who seemed to have found someone who actually operated in her high brain-levels? Unlike him?

"Danny?" Of course Jazz was the first to notice something was wrong. Except, she didn't look as concerned or all psycho-analytic mode as he thought she would. Instead, her face glowed, her cheeks red and her feet seemed to skip across the ground, light as air. "Why are you hanging in the back like that? Come on, race you to the bookstore!"

He found himself brightening up before he could stop himself. A smile quirked at his lips. He wasn't really upset.

Nevermind that none of them knew where the bookstore was, the challenge was immediately taken up by all three. Dancing and laughing, they ran around the busy street of Diagon Alley, ignoring the worried calls of their parents.

"I see it!" Danny called excitedly when Flourish and Blotts came into view, forgetting that in a race, maybe it wasn't the smartest thing to tell the opponent where he finish line was. But then again, the game wasn't really about winning.

But it didn't hurt that he was still the first one to touch the rackety wooden outside of the store. He turned a victorious grin to the other two.

"Ha! Beat that!" he crowed to Jazz unthinkingly. A moment later he felt embarrassed because Hermione seemed to have taken the challenge just as personally as Jazz (and she wasn't really part of the family or a close friend of his either), but he shrugged the feeling off. This careless freedom was much better than acting the part of a sequestered shy boy.

"I don't have to remind you of last night, do I?" Jazz threw back at him good-naturedly. Despite not understanding the reference, Hermione giggled as well. Danny felt mortified, but it was alleviated by the fact that Hermione didn't _know_.

"Well, I _won_ ," he retorted impudently, suddenly relishing in the glory of victory once more. "And I'm _younger_ than you."

"We'll beat you next time," Hermione vowed, her cheeks flushed red. Danny couldn't help but grin at her.

"Keep dreaming."

The adults arrived. The Grangers were panting hard, hands on their knees as they gasped for breath, but Maddie was in perfect shape as she cooly walked over to the children. Danny gulped.

"Hey, Mom." He got the sudden feeling that he had done something utterly and catastrophically _wrong_.

"Danny," she crouched down to meet him eye to eye and frowned severely. "Tell us before you run off next time, alright?" He was taken aback by the sweet tone in her voice, but was immensely grateful when she stood up and turned to Jazz.

"And that means you too, Jazz." His sister nodded head eagerly, but Danny couldn't help but notice how unrepentant she looked. What, was his goody two-shoes sister actually committing a _thoughtcrime_ (so to speak) against the undeniable power of authority?

Must be that teenager stage Mom always grumbled about.

Suddenly, he realized how uncomfortable Hermione looked, as she watched the Fenton children be reprimanded and her parents moving closer after having caught their breath.

"It was fun while it lasted, right?" he said tentatively.

"What?" She looked surprised. "Oh, yes. It was. Um." She shifted her weight around. "My parents aren't mad, you know. I think they're just happy I made a friend."

Danny looked up to find the truth of her words. Rather than the stern expression Mom had donned, both of her parent's faces were grinning widely.

"Did you win?" her mother asked teasingly, kind eyes twinkling, when they arrived.

"No." Hermione grinned sheepishly as them. "Danny did." Despite her previous challenge, she seemed awfully pleased by it.

"Well," her father butted in, "I'm sure you'll win next time."

Hermione lit up further, and she turned to Danny excitedly.

"Did you hear that? _Next_ time. We should meet up before we arrive at Hogwarts – oh, does your family have a phone I could call? I heard all about the way wizards send mail – you know, by owl – but I think by phone is much easier. If, well, if you'd like me to call you." Her voice had trailed off uncertainly by the end.

Danny took a moment to process everything she had just said.

"Sure," he said, before realizing the word wasn't quite adequate. "That'd be great. If you called." He looked away from her for a moment to find everybody listening in to this almost painfully awkward conversation. "Um, the number is 7 – " Then he realized that was the phone number they had in _Amity Park_ , and quickly backtracked. "Actually, I don't remember, but I think Mom would know?" He turned to her with pleading eyes, because he _knew_ she had been listening. He really liked Hermione, and didn't want to mess this up due to his own awkwardness.

"Of course," she interjected smoothly. "I'll give your parents our contact information as soon as we sit down. But for now, let's go into the store and get our school supplies, all right?"

The notion was met with a general murmur of agreement, and thus it was that the Fenton family and the Granger family entered Flourish and Blotts together.

Hermione and Jazz were immediately off as soon as they caught the sight of pages both aged and white, flittin eagerly from shelf to shelf, but Danny was left staring daunted at the vast number of thick bindings and the sheer size of the library. Where to start?

This time, Maddie didn't look to concerned at discovering where Jazz had disappeared off to; a bookstore seemed safe enough, after all. "Come on, let's ask an assistant where we can find all of your books."

And so the rest of the party dispersed.

With the aid of an assistant, it had been surprisingly easy to find the necessary books for first year classes at Hogwarts. However, after the simple ten minutes spent to collect what they had come for, Danny suddenly found himself being persuaded to roam the wonders of the library with Hermione and Jazz. He was hardly difficult to coax into following them; there wasn't much better to do after all.

Hours passed. He watched bemusedly as they cried out in excitement as finding a particularly interesting title, and he found even himself gravitating towards the pages of black and white ink that he allegedly detested. After all, what sane person wouldn't be attracted to such intriguing subjects such as _100 Jinxes to Curse Your Worst Enemies_ (he thought of all the times that he had wished he could've done something nasty to the jocks in school), or _A Draconian History_ (because no matter what Ollivander thought, dragons were the most awesome thing to have ever actually existed), or even _Muggle Legends_ (Hermione had handed it to him and he had been skeptical at first, but was soon overcome by laughter from the sheer outrageousness of how wizards portrayed the outside world).

At last, however, it was time to go.

"We already picked up all my other supplies," Hermione said regretfully, staring at her shoes. "We were saving the library for last, and it's already getting late..."

"Oh!" He supposed that made sense. "Well, make sure to call sometime soon. I had a lot of fun," he said, and couldn't help but add, "even if most of the time was spent in a _bookstore_ –"

"Hey!" Hermione protested immediately, the shy act gone. "What's wrong with a bookstore? I bet you found it very educational –"

"Right, _educational_."

"And I know I saw you laughing!" she concluded, her nose stuck in the air as if to say, _so there!_ Danny could recognize when he was beaten.

"Well, I suppose..." he paused, waiting.

"Suppose what?" she asked haughtily.

"It wasn't so bad," he conceded, and she grinned.

"See! Here, I can recommend you loads of good books that I know you'll like – "

"Er, no, that's fine."

"I think it'd be an excellent idea." Jazz had somehow snuck up from behind him, and he started. "If anyone can get him to admit the joy of reading, it'll be you, Hermione." Her arm snaked over to ruffle Danny's hair.

"Gah! _Jazz_!" He made his best attempt to remain dignified, but knew he had failed at Hermione's snort of laughter.

"Well, I suppose I better get going now," Hermione said, smiling. "Oh, just –" Then, she did a very strange thing.

She hugged him.

It was quick and painless. Her face turned bright red afterwards and she let out a squeal of embarrassment, made many rushed apologies. Danny was dazed through it all.

"Thank you! And sorry!" she said again, as she turned around to rush after her parents. "I'll definitely call!"

Then she was gone.

"Oh, you _like_ her," Jazz said, nudging him in the side.

"Shut up, Jazz."

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

It was only later when he realized what had been bugging him throughout the evening, long after Hermione had left and they had been collecting the rest of the school supplies. It hadn't been what Jazz had said, but rather Hermione herself – her actions, her words. Her _emotion_ at gaining one friend.

Danny thought he knew why, as he stared up at the constellation patterns engraved into the ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the designs that affirmed his dreams every night.

 _She's like me_ , he thought, not for the first time, but for a different reason. Not for their nature or their newness to the world of magic, but for a common past.

Without friends. Different. Bullied.

He had left most of that behind in Amity Park, a fact he was ever thankful for. He discovered, upon moving to England, that for some reason the system in his hometown had been twisted beyond measure. Oh, it wasn't as bad as the tales of the horrors of high school he had heard told, but it had been its own fair share of unpleasant.

It still wasn't ideal now, however. Here, no one actually bullied him, but he was still estranged from the group, without any close friends. His parents were still the freaky ghost scientists. At Amity, at least, he had Tucker. He wasn't sure which one he prefered.

He missed Amity Park. Despite everything, he missed it.

Did he think that Hermione could be a close friend like that, how Tucker had been? Someone to share secrets with, relate the misfortunes that occurred? To spend time with, alleviate the boredom of everyday life?

No. He wasn't sure. Maybe he was just imagining all of this. He dismissed it from his mind and turned onto his side to wrap his arms around his pillow, and tried to fall asleep.

But the thought had been somehow reassuring to him, and he clung to it even in his dreams.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

The time for waiting was over. The month had then passed, filled with fretful days of worrying and happy actions that were too carefree to be properly solidified into memory. September 1st had come. Danny would be leaving for Hogwarts.

They met the Granger family at the entrance to King's Cross. Hermione had indeed called him after the meeting at Diagon Alley, and the two families had corresponded frequently. Jack Fenton had been introduced to the Grangers, and the Grangers to him. They had seemed charmed, although they did seem to emit disapproval at the quantity of fudge he consumed regularly. Apparently, they were _both_ dentists.

Danny didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified.

Currently, however, both families were completely and utterly flummoxed by the train ticket that had arrived via owl post a few weeks prior. For in plain black font on the ticket was clearly written "Platform 9 3/4." The problem, of course, was that there was no platform "nine and three quarters," and asking around only lead to cross glares and suspicious stares. Luckily, they had arrived early and had plenty of time to loiter around confusedly.

So at the Fenton's suggestion, they had stopped attempting the more... conventional methods and decided to brainstorm. The entire group stood exactly three quarters in between the platforms nine and ten.

Maddie Fenton made a slow circle around the group, inspecting the station.

"Danny, do you see anything... strange?"

"Me?" He was confused. "Not really, why?"

"Hmm. I thought it might be something like the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron." His eyes widened in understanding, and he set out to search more thoroughly, standing on his tiptoes to see further.

"What about the entrance to Leaky Cauldron?" Hermione whispered in his ear. He started, and almost lost his balance.

"Oh, um." He set both feet firmly on the ground as he turned to look at her. "To Mom, the entrance looked like it was breaking down, but to me, it just looked a bit old. She thought it might be because I'm magical and she isn't."

"So I should be able to see anything strange too, right?" Hermione was a quick thinker.

Danny nodded tentatively

"I think so."

Suddenly, something seemed to have caught his attention, like an itch in the back of his mind. Or as if there was some color he had been looking for, but whenever he turned to look, he just didn't see it. The feeling was like that, except –

There. At the brick archway, near the "Platform 10" sign. A family was running straight at the brick wall.

"Mom, look!" he hissed, and pointed at the archway. As a result, everybody saw exactly when the family _went through the freaking wall and did not come out the other side_.

Dad, embarrassingly enough, pulled out his ectogun out (hidden in who-knows-where) at the sight.

"Ghost!" he yelled, and charged toward the pillar, stopping, just before he hit it. For a moment, he looked confused, before he shot an ectoblast at the wall. It singed the wall, but did not bounce back, or go through.

For once in Danny's life, no one was actually looking at the mortifying display, and he didn't have to pretend to not know his own father. Strangely confident in the strange magic that was allowing this wondrous thing to occur, he even walked up the man.

"That's strange," Dad said, frowning as he eyed the singe on the wall. "I didn't think – "

Danny pressed his hand against the wall, and just as he thought it would, his hand went right through.

"Woah." He grinned. "That's _cool_." He pulled his hand back out. Dad stared at it blankly.

"Er, son. Your hand just went through that wall."

"Yup," he cheerfully agreed, and suddenly the whole party was around him.

"Can I see your hand, Danny?" Maddie asked. He obediently lifted it, and she inspected it closely.

"Remarkable," she breathed, and as soon as he realized that it was her mad scientist side rather than the worry-wart mother that was talking, he yanked his hand away. "No sign of ectoplasm at all."

She then, tentatively, reached her own hand out to the barrier.

At first, there seemed to be resistance, before letting her hand break through as easily as if the brick were thin air.

"All right, let's go," she said briskly, taking everyone by surprise. "This appears to be our platform, and we can't be late for the train." Then, just like that, she stepped through the barrier in a quick motion.

"Maddie!" Jack leaped in after her, and the sane people were left gawking at the barrier.

"It's really only psychological at this point," Jazz noted duly. "It's already been proven that this isn't just a brick wall. We just need to counteract the human instinct that tells us not to walk through solid objects."

"But what's on the other side?" Hermione hissed, ever the logical one.

Danny worried that maybe he was a bit too much like his parents, because as soon as Hermione spoke those words, all his doubts vanished in the face of this apparent mystery.

"Let's find out."

He walked through the barrier, luggage and all, and stumbled into another world. Witches and wizards were everywhere, and although the station looked the same as before the brick wall, signs of magic were now evident everywhere. There were families hugging and kissing, and students hurriedly climbing into the train.

"We're here," Mom said brightly when she noticed he had arrived.

"Wow," he said, in genuine amazement. "This place is really – "

A body crashed into him, and he was suddenly sprawled over the concrete. His luggage (and that of the person who had fallen on him, it seemed), was beyond redemption.

"Sorry!" Hermione said as she clambered off of him, face once again cherry red. He groaned. "Jazz said that it would be easier if I ran, and I – watch out!"

He managed to roll out of the way in time before Jazz, too, came bursting through. She, being who she was, immediately noticed how Danny lay miserably on the ground.

"Danny, are you alright!?" Her voice was the picture perfect image of the right amount of both concern and shock. She leaned down to grab his arm. "What happened?"

He only groaned.

"Hermione ran into him," Mom said, clearly amused. "Apparently your running idea didn't seem to account for your brother standing right in front of the barrier."

"Oh." Jazz seemed at a loss for once. "Oh, um. Sorry."

So much for the picture perfect image of concern. Yeah, that really sounded genuine, Jazz.

Then a realization came to her.

"We should probably get out of the way before Hermione's parents come through. They might do the same thing.

Everybody was very quick to agree, and gathered around the brick wall in a more loose circle that allowed a straight path forward. They were surprised to see, however, various appendages (foot, hand... ear?) before the Grangers actually stepped through.

"Wow," Hermione's dad exclaimed, just as Danny had. "This place is _wicked_."

Great minds think alike.

Soon, however, it was time to part. Family wouldn't see family for many months. It was a first for most of them, and it was hard. Soon, their group devolved into two of the many families that were hugging and kissing their children goodbye.

"Remember to write!" Jazz called out after they had boarded the train and were waving from the window. "And get lots and lots of presents!"

"We will!" Danny called back. Hermione echoed the sentiment to her own parents.

Then they were off, leaving for a strange new world of magic.


	5. Humanity: Chapter 5

A/N: Happy belated Samhain! Can you believe that this fic is already more than 60 pages long? And that this is only at the Sorting Ceremony? To be fair, in the actual source material, the Sorting is at page ~118.

Also, I referenced the HP books a lot for this chapter, so if there's anything you recognize, I probably don't own it. Dialogue especially.

 _Guest:_ So sorry, I just realized after posting chapter 4 that I forgot to reply to your review on chapter 2! So here's my thanks – thank you for the review, and I'm glad you're interested enough to wonder what's going to happen in this fic. I suppose you already got your answer for "what happens next" hehe, but I hope you enjoy what happens from here on out as well.

 _Guest (2):_ Well. I had just written this really long paragraph of how the Sorting Hat sorts based on potential rather than actual qualities (ex. Neville, Hermione, Crabbe and Goyle... sort of), but then I accidentally clicked another page and it was deleted. In any case, I'd like to say thank you for the review, because I really appreciate it! As for Danny's house, I'm honestly not 100% sure yet. I was leaning for Gryffindor, but your review made me stop and think. What do you think would be the merits of each house other than Gryff for Danny? I suppose if he's not a Gryff, then he's a Puff... Well, in an case, I hope that you won't be disappointed with the final decision.

Chapter 5

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

The Sorting Ceremony seems to be almost a rite of passage for every young Hogwarts student, inducting them into the order that would determine their lifestyle for the next seven years. I have always doubted the integrity of the method of Sorting, for reasons that will soon be clear, but I will confess to having enjoyed my years greatly in the house I was chosen for, and cannot envision myself in another.

Still, as I reflect on it now, I wonder. Why had they decided to segregate children in this manner? Oh, he had enjoyed the solidarity created by house rivalry, but sometimes it seemed it went too far. With only four houses, rather than friendly rivalry between many, the house system created a strong grudge between two groups. Discrimination seemed forefront in the minds of students, and even encouraged.

Slytherin was the house everyone was wary of, the one they watched closely when any sign of ill occurred. This was what had made me wonder. Why create a house that everyone would immediately gravitate to when looking to place the blame? "Ambition" was such as word that can be easily interpreted in such a way, and now, I'm skeptical it was even the original nature of the students when they were Sorted that led them to be the way they are.

Being ostracized can do that to you.

There is nothing that I loathe more, even in my old age, than humans purposefully or uncaringly hurting others of their own kind. It is often that I find myself wishing that all this violence and hatred and snobbish disregard would just _stop_.

Alas, I do not have the power to change the very nature of the world.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

"So have you thought any about what house you'd like to be in?" Hermione asked. The cricketty sound of the train rushing over each connected segment of rail accompanied her voice, like a metronome to her eager outpour. Danny looked at her in surprise.

"What house? You mean the..." For a moment, he struggled to remember their names, "Ravenclaw, Slithering, Hufflepuff, and er..." He thought he knew what the next one was, but didn't dare to try it out without being certain first.

"Gryffindor," Hermione said, not unkindly. "And the second one is _Slytherin_ , not _slythering_."

"Oh," he said, feeling dumb, "Um, well, do _you_ know which house you'd like to be in?"

"Gryffindor," she said confidently, and Danny couldn't help the surprise that must have appeared on his face.

"Really?" he asked. "Not Ravenclaw?" He did remember something of the descriptions of the houses McGonagall had described to them, and Hermione was indeed the bookish, genius type.

She hesitated before answering.

"Well... not really. It's just, I know I'd fit in there because I _really_ like books and learning, but..."

"But what?" he prompted, and suddenly there was a stubborn gleam in her eyes.

"But there are more important things, aren't there? I don't want my life to be _just_ these stories I read. I want to be part of..." She paused, and the gleam turned more thoughtful, considering. "Well, part of something bigger. With more meaning."

Danny felt a strange sort of yearning at those words.

"And you think Gryffindor can give that to you?" he asked cautiously. She nodded.

"It is the house of the brave, you know." She lifted her chin imperiously. "I want to be brave like that."

He smiled.

"I think I do too."

The compart door opened, and the moment, if it had been a "moment" at all, was broken. A small boy with round cheeks peeked in.

"Have you seen my toad?" he asked mournfully. "I lost him."

Hermione immediately took front and center, her words probably still at the forefront of her mind. "Your toad?" she said. "We haven't seen him, but we can help you look. Do you know where he might be?"

The boy's face lit up.

"Really?" He cleared his throat and attempted to look more dignified. "I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Hermione Granger," she said, "Pleased to meet you."

"I'm Danny," Danny said, then realizing that everyone else had said their last names, "Er, Danny Fenton."

"You'll really help me find my toad?" It was almost tragic how hopeful his voice sounded, and Danny couldn't help but feel glad that Hermione had been the one who made the offer, and so Hermione was the one he was talking to. Danny, after all, didn't have the slightest clue of how to handle a situation like this.

"Of course," Hermione reassured him quickly. "What does he look like?"

"Green," Neville blurted. "And fast."

The information wasn't much to go on, but Hermione nodded nonetheless. They'd know it when they see it. There was no point in pushing.

"Okay." She stood up from the seat in the compartment, and Danny followed. "Let's start looking for him then. How about you go to the the prefect's compartment and ask them if they know any spells that could help us track him down? Danny and I could then split up and ask the other students if they've seen your toad, like you've been doing."

Danny blinked at her owlishly. Prefect's compartment? He didn't even know what a "prefect" was.

"Alone?" Neville squeaked. He obviously knew what a prefect was. "Can't you come with me?"

Hermione looked divided.

"Well, it'd be much easier if we could split up in different directions..." She turned to Danny. "What if you went to the prefects, and Neville and I searched the compartments?"

"What's a prefect?" he asked.

"Oh!" She looked embarrassed. "They're older students who are in charge of helping us. Er, did you see the sign that pointed to where their compartment would be?"

Danny shook his head.

"I can show you."

They walked out of their train compartment, leaving their luggage inside. No one was going to steal it; after all, it was only the basic school supplies that everyone should already have, and anything else could be tracked down easily. Hermione showed the sign to him, just a few meters away from the entrance to their compartment, and he nodded.

"Okay, so I just have to ask if they know any spells that can track toads?" He looked askance at Hermione.

"Er, yes," she said. "Good luck!" That seemed to be a dismissal, so Danny turned around and walked the direction the sign pointed. He could hear frantic murmuring from behind him as he assumed Hermione was telling Neville the plan. Boy, was she committed when she said she'd do something.

 _Prefects_ , he mused. _'Students in charge of helping us.' I wonder if they're nice._

As he walked, Danny came across another sign pointing the way, and right after it, a particularly noisy compartment, roaring with laughter. He peered through the small glass window curiously.

They had a giant, freaking tarantula. Not just bigger than his hand or greater than average size, but it was _gigantic_. Like, the size of a ceiling fan. It nearly reached up to the knee of the two red-headed boys inside and of the boy with black dreadlocks. None of them seemed at all concerned, and were in fact _laughing_.

Wizards were _insane_.

He backed away uncertainly before they could notice him, and continued on his way.

To his luck, he discovered a prefect patrolling the corridors of the train before he had needed to walk all the way to the compartment. In fact, if he had, he would have likely stumbled upon an empty compartment, since the prefect meeting would start only later in the journey from Hogwarts – or so the prefect told him.

"Er, I'm looking for a toad, and we were hoping that a prefect could find him?" Danny couldn't help the nerves he felt as he looked upon the older boy, a clear figure of authority with his nose held pompously high and shoulders straightened and proud. The black hat resting on his flame red hair was immaculately aligned, and his badge shone proudly on his chest.

"Of course," the prefect said. "That's what I'm here for. Do you have a description of the toad?"

Now Danny wished that Hermione had pushed Neville further for information.

"He's green," Danny said helplessly, "and fast. I don't know much more. He's Neville Longbottom's toad."

The prefect nodded. Then, taking out a wand and muttering something, he cast a spell.

"Would anybody who sees a green toad report to the prefect's cabin?" His voice boomed, and Danny suspected the message was being relayed throughout the entire train. "If possible, catching the toad and bring it would be much appreciated. Thank you."

The prefect again cast a spell, and now when he spoke, his voice was normal.

"He should turn up sometime soon, if he's on the train. Which compartment are you in?"

Danny pointed down the hall, from where he had come. "Maybe ten compartments down? I'm not sure."

That seemed to be enough for the prefect, because he nodded.

"I'm Percy Weasley," he said, attempting a smile. It looked almost practiced on his face, and the hand held out like a businessman didn't help the impression any.

Danny shook his hand anyway. "I'm Danny Fenton," he said earnestly. "Thanks."

The smile suddenly seemed more at ease and genuine.

"You're welcome," the prefect said warmly. "Now, if there isn't anything else...?"

"No." He shook his head. "Thank you."

While walking back to their compartment, he discovered Neville, standing nervously in front of another compartment door. He seemed relieved to see Danny.

"Hello," he said. "I heard the announcement. Do you think they'll find him soon?" He looked genuinely worried about the wellbeing of his toad.

"The prefect said that he'll probably turn up soon," Danny said, now grateful for the fact that the prefect had indeed said that. "When he's found, they'll send him to us."

"Thank you," Neville said, and he smiled.

"No problem, Neville."

When they headed back to their compartment (Neville had told him that he had been sitting alone earlier, so Danny had offered to let him sit with them), Hermione wasn't there. He had thought she would be quicker to come back after hearing the announcement than they had, but she must have gotten stalled, because here she wasn't.

So Neville and Danny actually talked for a while, and hit it off surprisingly well, considering they were both awkward and shy pre-teens. The trolley cart had come by with lots of treats – they only bought a small amount however, since neither really had an abundance of spending money. But they shared the candy and had fun with small talk, about the wizarding world and speculations on what Hogwarts was going to be like.

When Hermione finally arrived, they were involved in an enthused conversation about Quidditch. Admittedly, the enthusiasm came mostly from Danny.

"You don't like flying?" Danny asked incredulously. "But – we're wizards! Isn't the whole point that we can do cool things like flying?"

"I _can't_ fly," Neville said glumly. "I'd probably just fall right off."

"Flying does sound terrifying," Hermione agreed as she walked in, startling them both. Without another word, she plopped herself into the bench on Danny's side.

"But – you've never been at least curious?" Danny said dubiously, continuing his argument in favor of welcoming Hermione (the subject of flying was important, after all). "I mean, flying without a care, just the wind in your face, no strange contraption around you except for a broom – "

"You speak as if you've done it," she said dryly, and he looked affronted.

"I have my dreams, you know," he said. "I've thought about it a lot. It'd almost be like going to space – "

Suddenly the words died on his lips.

"Hermione, the wizarding world wouldn't happen to have a space program, would it?"

She stared at him, seeming uncertain. She must have somehow sensed the importance of the question.

"I'm... not sure," she confessed. "I can try to find out though."

Danny thought he already knew the answer: _no_. Why would wizards be interested in space if they could fly? It seemed like the whole wizarding world revolved around magic, and had no signs of technology. Without a rocket, it was impossible to get into space.

"What do you mean by 'space'?" Neville asked curiously, unknowingly confirming the sinking suspicion lodged in Danny's heart, like a heavy stone carrying all his aspirations drowned by quicksand. Neville had already told him he was a "pureblood," from an old wizarding family, so he knew his question was an accurate reflection of the state of the wizarding world.

He let Hermione explain. She was much better at it.

"It's where all the stars are," she said. "Past the clouds and higher, where there's no air. It's really fascinating, actually; the world we know only makes up a small percentage of what's out there. We live on a planet – earth, you knew that, right? – which is basically a sphere orbiting the sun. Space describes that area all around us, with the other stars and planets out there."

"Oh," Neville said.

Hermione seemed to recognize the awkward tension in the air, and brightly turned to another topic. "Well, I just met Harry Potter."

The reaction was immediate.

"Harry Potter!?" Neville spluttered, seeming almost in awe. "He's in our school year? And you _met_ him?"

"He seemed quite ordinary to me," Hermione was quick to say. "I thought he was a little overwhelmed, to be honest."

"Who's Harry Potter?"

Danny's sudden question prevented Neville's indignant reply that had been sure to come, and they both looked at him shock.

"You didn't read _The Most Famous Wizards in Recent History_? Or..." Hermione rattled off a list of books so long it made Danny's head spin to even think of it. "Harry was mentioned in _all_ of them, to great detail, I might mention."

"Harry?" Neville said incredulously. "You're on first name terms with him?"

"I don't see why not," Hermione scoffed, but Danny thought she looked the slightest bit smug. "He's just an ordinary boy, you know."

" _Ordinary_ – " Neville was astonished, to say the least. "He defeated the worst dark wizard since Grindelwald!"

Danny didn't know who Grindelwald was, or even that dark wizards existed, but he figured that the conversation had long moved past her grasp on wizarding culture. More importantly, he wanted to figure out who Harry Potter was.

"I know," Hermione defended. "But he was just a baby then. Do you think he even _remembers_ that?"

"Well," Neville faltered, and his resolve at hero-worship noticeably crumbled. "I suppose not."

Danny struggled to put what he had just learned in a comprehensive format.

"So," he said slowly, and the two turned to look at them, "Harry Potter is a wizard hero, who defeated some bad dark wizard when he was a baby, and now he's going to school with us?" Danny vaguely recalled McGonagall telling his family that a wizarding celebrity was going to be attending Hogwarts with him.

"Not just some bad dark wizard," Neville said, then leaned forward as if to share a terrible secret, " _Voldemort_." He said the name in such a low whisper that Danny could only barely hear.

"Voldemort?" he repeated, unimpressed, and Neville flinched.

"Don't say the name!"

"Er," Danny looked at Hermione for askance, and she shrugged. "Sorry. Won't happen again." What, did something happen to Neville to be so terrified of this wizard? To not even be able to hear his _name_ without flinching?

"It's not just me," Neville said in way of explanation at seeing their confusion."You-Know-Who – he was bad. Everyone was terrified of him, and those who resisted – " He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as if trying to warm himself up, or as if to hide himself. "Let's talk about something else."

Although still curious, Danny relented.

"Alright. So..." He searched in vain for something to talk about, and his mind invariably turned to thoughts of home. "What are your parents like?"

Neville flinched, and Danny could tell he had hit a sore spot.

 _That's an underestimation. Sore spot. Ha._

"Oh, er," Neville seemed to withdraw into himself. "I live with my grandma." Then after a moment's pause, he added empathetically, "She's terrifying."

Danny couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Really?" he said. "How come?"

But Neville shied away at the question, a blush staining his cheeks.

"My parents are ghost hunters," Danny confessed, because it seemed like Neville wouldn't be answering the question and it was somehow liberating to say the words. "Your grandma might be scary, but my parents are _insane_."

Neville cracked a smile.

"And you know what her parents do?" Danny paused, jabbing his thumb in Hermione's direction and leaning in conspiratorially. "They're _dentists_. Can you imagine?"

"What's wrong with them being dentists?" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

"Look," Danny replied, just as heatedly. "They're _dentists_. Every kid has nightmares about them!"

"Not my parents!" Hermione protested. Danny was just about to make another lighthearted retort, when –

"What are dentists?" Poor Neville looked absolutely lost.

"What? You don't have dentists?" Danny was astonished. "Lucky."

"What Danny _means_ ," Hermione said, shooting him a _look_ , "is that dentists are a vital part of society. They look after our teeth, and so it just seems strange that the wizarding world hadn't heard of them."

"Look after our teeth? But why?"

"Well – " Hermione began, when a yell and other loud commotion seemed to emit from the compartment next door. She looked concerned. "Do you think they're all right?"

Danny shivered. "You want to _check_?"

"I think that's Harry Potter's compartment."

" _What_?" Neville shot to his feet. "He's _there_?" he squeaked.

"Honestly, Neville –"

Then someone screamed, a high pitched, pitiful sound. They immediately leapt up to their feet and without argument, dashed down the small length of corridor to the next compartment. Hermione was the first to open the door, and immediately three boys, one blond and skinny and the other two thick and stalwart, ran out of the room. They didn't look back.

"What on earth –"

Two boys sat inside the compartment, looking rather worse for wear. Boxes of candy were scattered around the entire compartment, and strangely enough, Danny could spot a rat holding the edge of the train window for dear life, as if it believed it hard enough arm strength to cling to the thin rail.

"Did you get in a _fight_?" Hermione asked disbelievingly. "Already?"

The dark-haired boy gaped at her.

"We didn't!" he protested, and it was self righteous anger that inflamed his cheeks. "It was Ron's rat!"

"I think he's been knocked out," the redhead said mournfully, and he held the same rat that had been clinging to the window in the palm of his hand. Then he took a closer look. "No – I don't believe it – he's gone back to sleep."

And so he had.

"Are you Harry Potter?" Danny asked the dark haired boy, curious. He was surprised by the shock and embarrassment that suddenly appeared on the boy's face.

"Er, yes."

Danny hadn't been thinking of what to say if the boy was Harry Potter when he had asked the question, and so now found himself hanging awkwardly, as expectant faces looked to him to continue the conversation.

"Oh," he said lamely. Harry Potter, at least, looked relieved.

There was a silence, and now both groups stared at each other awkwardly, Neville almost looking on in hero worship. Eventually, the redhead – Ron – turned to Harry Potter, opting to ignore the elephant in the room.

"You've met Malfoy before?"

Harry looked uncomfortably at the three of them, and Danny decided it would be wise to do the same as Ron.

"Come on, let's go back to our compartment."

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Just ten minutes later, they arrived at Hogwarts – or at least, where Hogwarts was supposed to be. By then, their grumbling stomachs had become their primary concern. The candy had helped, but pure sugar alone was not enough to tide them over for the many hours the journey had taken. Neville, at least, had seemed reassured by the return of his toad halfway into the trip, when Percy Weasley had entered the compartment with a stiff smile and magically floated the creature to the boy.

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here!" a giant of a man with a bright lantern in his hand called, and the flood of students spilling from the train suddenly changed course, a living being split in two. Faces that looked younger flocked to the large man, while the older students brazenly walked to where they ought to go, already familiar with this terrain. Danny, on the other hand, didn't even have the slightest clue in which direction the castle was supposed to be.

Danny, Hermione, and Neville made their way to the man.

"That's Hagrid, I think," Neville said uncertainly. "Grandma told me he's the groundskeeper for Hogwarts, but there was something that happened…" His voice trailed off, and his words became indistinct and garbled at the end.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, but before Neville could answer, the group began moving, and they were forced to stumble forward lest they would be left behind. Hagrid led them through the darkness along a rather craggy path, and at last, they came to a murky lake. The water seemed like a black abyss in the night, stretching on forever, only a compliment to the blackness of the night. Not even the stars seemed to shine.

A fleet of boats rested in the water.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called. Hermione, Neville, and Danny all clambered into a boat, and another shy first year climbed in after them. They later learned that her name was Susan Bones.

"Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, alone in his own boat. "Right then – FORWARD!"

Their first sight of Hogwarts was an experience Danny would never forget. While the lake had seemed ominous before, now it was a grand mirror to reflect the archaic beauty that was the school. It was a castle, perched upon a high mountain with windows that seemed to sparkle like hidden stars. Turrets and towers shot from the roof of the castle, creating an eerie picture of multiplicious shadows and bright lights. It resembled a bright moon against a clear night sky.

That was where he was going to _school_.

 _Wizards are awesome._ He thought that maybe, for once, he would actually enjoy school, if it were in a place like this, and about _magic_.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid. The first boats were now entering a small cave within the cliff face, covered with ivy. When their boat reached the lip of the cavern, they dutifully ducked their heads. Their boat continued its smooth glide down a dark tunnel, and Danny suspected that they were right beneath the castle now. Soon, they reached a sort of harbor, with rocks and pebbles blanketing the ground rather than smooth sand.

"Oy, you there!" A loud voice boomed, and Danny started because the voice seemed to be projected towards them. "Is this your toad?" Hagrid had Neville's toad in his outstretched hand, and Danny stared at him in amazement. He hadn't even noticed that the toad had disappeared.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, and cradled his frog in his arms when he had hopped to him. When he seemed to have sufficiently reunited with his toad, the three followed the rest of the group up the stone flight of stairs. At the end, an impressive wooden castle door stood before them.

"Everyone here? You there, still got your toad?" Hagrid had a kind smile, with lines on his face that somehow emphasized his gentleness.

Neville nodded eagerly, and Hagrid lifted his gigantic fist and rapped on the door three times. The door swung open immediately, and there McGonagall stood.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid said. Danny noted the "professor," and resolved to think of her as such from the on. She would be his teacher after all, and he _liked_ her.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Her eyes flitted over the group, and when she found his, he thought he could see the tiniest smile on her face. Then she turned away, pulling the castle door wide open, and led them to a small, empty chamber off the entrance hall. A buzz of nervousness permeated the air as the new students poured in. It was unlike anything Danny had ever experienced before.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes seemed to linger disapprovingly on Neville for a moment, and Danny was startled to realize that Neville's cloak was fastened under his left ear.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," she said with finality. "Please wait quietly."

Silence. And then –

"Oh, what spells do you think we'll need?" Hermione began whispering. "I know _reparo_ , several others… Do you think – ?"

But Danny was listening to her anymore, eyes wide with fright.

Ghosts had entered the room. _Ghosts._ His parents had told him stories about ghosts, all the terrifying things – he hadn't believed them of course – but now –

He may have let out a whimper.

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance –" the fat ghost was saying.

 _What?_

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?" This ghost was wearing a ruff around his neck and tights.

Danny's fear vanished when he finally comprehended the scene before him. The ghosts were _arguing_. And they didn't look particularly threatening at all, perhaps even comical. Were these even the same ghosts that his parents had told him of? These were pearly-white and transparent, not the solid green ectoplasm that his parents collected.

"New students!" the fat ghost beamed. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

Danny nodded, mouth agape. He noticed several others doing the same, but Hermione, for her own part, was simply staring in wide-eyed rapture.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."

It was Professor McGonagall. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. Danny stared after them, wondering.

"Now, form a line," she said, and Danny's attention was jerked back to her, "and follow me."

They entered a pair of double doors into the Great Hall of Hogwarts. And indeed, it was marvelous. Thousands upon thousands of candles floated midair, casting eerie shadows over the four tables aligned perfectly parallel to each other, each laden with rich foods and golden goblets and dishes. It was the very definition of opulence, yet also strangely comforting and cozy. At the end of the hall was another table perpendicular to the four, where the teachers sat. Danny could see the silvery light of a ghost emitting from several if the tables.

"Its bewitched to look like the sky outside," Hermione whispered in his ear, so close that he could feel her breath against his skin. "I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

Danny didn't answer, instead opting to continue staring at the hall in awe. They were now positioned so that the teacher's table was behind them, and they were facing the four tables containing older students. He figured, by the banners each table was sporting, that the tables were divided into the famed houses.

Professor McGonagall strode to a solitary stool just in front of them, and placed a rather rugged, worn-out hat on the stool. The amiable chatter that had filtered throughout the hall suddenly stopped, Danny found it almost unnerving how everybody in the hall stared at the hat so intensely.

The hat twitched.

A line across the brim opened.

The line opened wide to reveal a gap and it perhaps resembled a mouth.

Then it began to sing.

" _Oh, you might not think I'm pretty,  
_ _But don't judge on what you see,  
_ _I'll eat myself if you can find  
_ _A smarter hat than me.  
_ _You can keep your bowlers black,  
_ _Your top hats sleek and tall,  
_ _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
_ _And I can cap them all.  
_ _There's nothing hidden in your head  
_ _The Sorting Hat can't see.  
_ _So try me on and I will tell you  
_ _Where you ought to be.  
_ _You might belong in Gryffindor,  
_ _Where dwell the brave at heart,  
_ _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
_ _Set Gryffindor apart;  
_ _You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
_ _Where they are just and loyal,  
_ _Those patient Hufflepuffs are true  
_ _And unafraid of toil;  
_ _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
_ _If you've a ready mind,  
_ _Where those of wit and learning  
_ _Will always find their kind;  
_ _Or perhaps in Slytherin  
_ _You'll make your real friends,  
_ _Those cunning folk use any means  
_ _To achieve their ends.  
_ _So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
_ _And don't get in a flap!  
_ _You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
_ _For I'm a Thinking Cap!_ "

The entire hall burst into applause, and Danny stood shell-shocked. Suddenly, the hat seemed to have gained a sort of holy reverence in Danny's mind, and now, despite its raggedy features, it had become the Hat instead.

A singing hat. A singing, _sentient_ Hat.

 _What. Woah. I, I can't even –_

His thoughts spluttered to a stop. After a month of trapezing around in wizard society, it was finally too much to comprehend.

Then McGonagall stepped forward, a long roll of parchment held smartly between her fingers.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A girl with blonde pigtails hurriedly stumbled to the stool, face bright and pink. She sat down and pulled on the hat, and it drooped over hey eyes. An expectant silence, and –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the Hat.

Cheers accompanied the announcement, and Hannah walked to the table who had clapped the loudest, sporting golden and blue banners.

"Bones, Susan!" McGonagall called out. It was the girl from the boat.

The queasy feeling that had disappeared since the Day of Decision suddenly came back in full force, as Danny realized that _he_ would have to walk up there, with everybody in the hall watching. He glanced at Hermione – _why did she look so_ excited _?_ – but instead found his reassurance in Neville, who looked just as terrified as he felt.

"It'll be fine," he tried to whisper, but he didn't Neville heard him because at the same time, the Hat called out, "HUFFLEPUFF!" and the accompanying cheers undoubtedly covered up any sound he could have made.

"Boot, Terry!"

Hermione seemed to have noticed, however. She turned to him and attempted to give him a reassuring smile, although the effect was slightly lessened by the eager bounce in her movements that betrayed her insincerity. He understood, he really did, but it just didn't make him feel any better.

She said something. He didn't hear.

"What?" he asked.

"RAVENCLAW!" the Hat screamed.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy!"

He could see Hermione's mouth moving, but still couldn't make out the words. He shrugged and smiled for her anyway, because it wasn't likely he would understand anytime soon anyway. Seemingly satisfied, Hermione turned away to continue watching the Sorting.

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Brown, Lavender!"

He suddenly regretted his actions, because now there was nothing to distract him from the nausea building in the pit of his stomach, and the nervous butterflies that accompanied it.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

"Bulstrode, Millicent!"

The Hat had barely touched her head when it called, "SLYTHERIN!"

Danny found his heart racing, blood pumping to his head so fast that he felt dizzy. The room, which he had just a minute ago thought was so cheerily adorned and lit by its thousand floating candles, seemed to darken before his eyes. He dreaded the moment when McGonagall would call his name.

He still had time. The last name called had started with a B. He had time, he had –

"Daniel Fenton!"

He gulped. He wasn't ready for this. He felt the eyes of seven hundred students on him as he walked through the aisle, knees weak. He was sure if he looked down, he would find them shaking, and his hands in tight fists. But he kept his eyes steadfast and forward, narrowed in onto the velvet black of the Sorting Hat as it seemed to indomitably expand and envelop his vision. The silence was deafening.

At last, he reached the stool.

"Mr. Fenton?" McGonagall asked softly, and he felt a squeeze on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

He didn't look at her, still staring at the Sorting Hat.

"Yeah."

Then blackness covered his eyes, and he knew the Hat was resting over his head. _How embarrassing_ , he thought offhandedly, _my head isn't even big enough to fit the Hat properly._

Or was that a good thing? He wasn't sure.

"Aha!" A small voice in his ear suddenly exclaimed, and he jumped, startled. He realized it must be the Hat, and then belatedly remembered how the Hat had sung earlier and had called out those names _so of course it could talk_. "Not the brightest child to pass through Hogwarts, are you?" The Hat seemed to hum in contentment for a moment. "I do appreciate the significance you seem to have given me in your mind, however."

 _What?_

"Erm…" Danny cleared his throat to reply to the Hat, but suddenly his throat felt too dry and he found he didn't even know how to reply. The Hat could read his mind? He supposed it made sense, and the song _did_ imply that, but –

"Ah, yes, definitely not a Ravenclaw. There is a thirst for acknowledgement, oh yes, I can see that – but not quite enough for a proper Slytherin either. Hmm. What to do with you? A Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor?"

Bewildered, Danny thought back to Hermione's words back on the train. How she wanted to be in Gryffindor, because it would make her brave.

"Indeed." Danny sensed almost a gleeful feeling from the hat. "In that case, better be –

"GRYFFINDOR!"

* * *

Extra

* * *

 _alternate ending to train scene:_

"My parents..." Neville seemed to withdraw into himself. "They're… not here. I live with my grandma."

"Oh." Danny hoped he hadn't just lost a new friend to his stupid curiosity. "I'm sorry," he said, trying his best to show his sincerity. "I didn't know."

"'S okay," Neville mumbled.

They passed some time in silence, after that. For what do you say, after another boy told you his parents were dead?

* * *

A/N: Er. Yeah. The awaited sorting, yay! I hope I didn't disappoint anybody too much, but I felt that in the end I had solid enough reasons for choosing Gryffindor, especially because this story starts about three years before the show and Danny hasn't exhibited his most stunning Hufflepuff qualities yet. As for the alternate ending – I wrote it, then realized how all kinds of things were wrong with it (since Neville wouldn't tell a stranger about it so easily and it seems to be just easier to avoid questions such as in the actual version), and Neville's parents aren't actually dead, just a bit crucified and insane (and even though this was Danny who was misinterpreting the words, I didn't really want to confuse you guys either). You know, the normal stuff.

In any case, I hope all of you enjoyed the chapter! It was quite long – 18 pages and about 6,000 words – so let me know if that was a good thing or it just seemed like far too much dialogue and whatnot rather than actual story development, or something else.


	6. Humanity: Chapter 6

A/N: This was a fairly interesting writing excercise. The first 7 pages are entirely straight from the book – except altered to fit Danny's perspective. Dialogue should be the only thing that's exactly the same as the book. Little bit of a different interpretation of events, but it's subtle. I had to do this because the events in HP and this story sort of converge here, and since there wasn't a large interaction until then, there weren't many changes. I believe that from here on out, however, it should be largely free style again. I hope you enjoy the chapter in any case.

No votes yet on the Quirrelldemort poll. ;)

 _Guest:_ I'm glad that you found my reasoning sound, and I also agree with you that post-accident Danny probably would have been a Puff (Slytherin seems more debatable to me, but possible). However, I must state that I'm extremely flattered by "always nice to read a new chapter from [me]." Does this imply a special sort of liking to my stories in particular?

 _75_ _pages total as of December 4, 2015._

Chapter Six

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Hermione had also been Sorted into Gryffindor, just as she had wanted. Her Sorting had been met with the same enthusiastic clapping as my own was, but much less than when Harry Potter had been welcomed into Gryffindor. I couldn't help but notice at that time, however, the sour expression Ron Weasley had on his face as he stared at Hermione. If I had thought to act on it earlier, then perhaps some minor troubles would have been avoided.

Neville had also gotten into Gryffindor. It made me think how lucky I was that the two people I had met before arriving at Hogwarts were two of the people that would be in the same house as I. Even now, I still marvel at it.

Fate is such a finicky thing, and we must be grateful for every gift it gives us.

Or so Clockwork would say. I would like to believe that I have not quite yet drifted into othose stages of senility, with grand statements that mean both nothing and everything –

Oh dear. It seems to have already begun.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

"Welcome!" Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of the school, announced gaily. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

A pause, as Dumbledore looked at his bewildered students genially.

"Thank you!"

The headmaster returned to his seat from the podium, looking rather pleased with himself. Danny stared at him, aghast.

"Is he – a bit mad?" he heard Harry Potter, the celebrity, ask the red-headed prefect – Percy, that was his name – who had helped Danny with Neville's toad in the train. He noticed how once again, the older boy seemed to talk on airs at the question, as if he existed on a higher level than the younger students.

For a moment, he wondered if the prefect acted like that to everyone, or if it was really just because they were younger and he knew things they didn't yet.

"Mad?" Percy said, nose upturned and looking not affected in the slightest, "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"

Danny lost interest in the conversation after that. The mention of food had brought his attention to what should have been empty platters before him – except now they were filled with delicacies both urban and exotic. Much of it was familiar, the rest as if it had emerged from a fantasy dream. It was fold as the mind had always envisioned it: succulent, hot to the touch, savory, and even crisp and cool when the occasion demanded it.

The food didn't come to life, either. Despite it being a magic castle, Hogwarts was almost more tame than his own home. Danny didn't know whether to be worried or grateful at the fact.

When he noticed the ghost standing halfway in and halfway out of the table, however, he quickly revised his opinion.

"I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," the ghost was saying forlornly. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

He was watched with avid attention by all the first years, enraptured by the mystique of his very being. Some were more dismissive than the others – _the ones who already knew about magic_ , Danny thought – but even they had a hard time pretending any level of nonchalance as their wandering eyes returned to Nicholas, Ghost of Gryffindor Tower.

"I know who you are!" the redhead who had been in the train compartment with Harry Potter suddenly burst, eyes bright with excitement and discovery. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

The ghost stiffened, and so did Danny. His mother's childhood tales returned to his mind, playing before him just how this all could go so wrong, the horror stories of children stolen away to the Ghost Zone.

"I would _prefer_ you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy –"

" _Nearly_ Headless? How can you be _nearly_ headless?

It was Seamus Finnigan who had spoken this time. He was a bright-faced boy with cropped scruffy hair, and when he spoke, it was with an Irish accent. He was the appearance of "scruffy," but it was the more intentional sort that marked a disregard for societal conventions. Danny got the feeling that they could be friends, simply from the boy's overly cheery demeanour. He felt as if Seamus could be friends with nearly anybody, in fact.

He was less sure, however, when it came to Seamus facing off with a ghost.

"Like _this_ ," Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington said irritably, and just about pulled off his own head.

 _What. Whatwhatwhat._

Ew. No. He did _not_ just see that.

Suffice to say, Sir Nicholas had proved his point in that he was indeed _nearly_ headless, and thus soon his head was reattached to the rest of his, er, body. It seemed that everybody let out a communal sigh of relief at the fact.

The ghost coughed, and Danny almost could've said the ghost looked embarrassed. But no, that was impossible. Ghosts couldn't be embarrassed, of all things.

"So – new Gryffindors!" the ghost said far too cheerily. "I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

Danny looked at the Slytherin table, littered by its green and silver colors. He saw the ghost Sir Nicholas was referring to, and immediately looked away before he could happen to catch that monstrosity's attention.

Nope. Nope. Not for him. Boy was he _glad_ he hadn't ended up in Slytherin.

But he wasn't acting particularly brave either, despite his sentiments towards the Sorting Hat.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Seamus asked, interest plain on his face.

"I've never asked," the Gryffindor ghost replied, quite delicately. Apparently this was dangerous ground to tread upon.

The first years got the hint. They moved on. They continued their food. Danny occasionally shot nervous glances towards the ghost.

When the dessert appeared (the main course had just _vanished_ as soon as everybody was full), they began talking about their families.

The other Gryffindors, Danny soon discovered, were not too much different from him. Sitting around the house table adorned in gold and red, they shared stories of their families and early friends, and for once, Danny realized that he wasn't the strangest one in the room.

Dean – a swarthy boy with a ready smile and almost too long neck – was laughing.

"Your dad didn't know?" the boy mouthed to Seamus incredulously, for he had just told the table how it had been such a nasty surprise to his father when he discovered his wife was a witch and hadn't told him for years.

Seamus nodded, grin large on his face.

"How about you, Neville?" Ron asked.

"Oh." Neville looked both flattered and terrified at the attention. "Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch. But the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off of the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned – but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced – all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here – they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

He spoke surprising a lot for someone of such a nervous demeanor. Danny began to have serious doubts about his own attitude towards his family, if Neville had been dealt with all this, yet somehow still seemed to have a favorable disposition towards his own relatives.

At least, he thought, they could sympathize with each other's familial situations.

"Do you think that –" he just began to say when Harry Potter suddenly clapped a hand to his forehead, with a sharp exclamation, "Ouch!"

"What is it?" asked Percy, the prefect.

"N-nothing," Harry said, but the group was now staring at him curiously. The celebrity didn't seem to notice. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?"

Interest dissipated at Percy's quick answer, as the incident seemed to be over. Danny found his gaze hovering towards Neville, trying to remember what he had been about to say.

 _What had they been talking about before?_

It didn't matter, because soon they had found a new topic of conversation. Hermione, who previously had been locked into conversation with Percy, now tentatively joined in on occasions, as the topic was neither about books or coursework and Hermione did not know how to talk about much else. Danny, on the other hand, was eager enough to discuss the merits of the different types of desert – American, Muggle, or otherwise.

When the desert had vanished itself from the table, Dumbledore once more stood up from the staff table. The chatter stopped, and an eery silence echoed in the grand halls.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Danny noticed the redheaded twins, who had been laughing uproariously at the giant spider earlier in the train, looked the slightest bit mischievous at those words. From what little he had seen, he wouldn't put it past them to break the school rules solely to break the school rules.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Some laughter. Danny didn't join in.

"Is he serious?" he heard Harry Potter whisper. Danny was glad he had asked the question, in hopes that he would find some semblance of an answer for the ominous warning the headmaster had given.

"Must be," Percy's voice answered. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that, I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" announced Dumbledore.

There seemed to be a collective groan, unspoken yet inherently understood even to the first years. There were a few deviants however – namely the mischevious-looking twins – that smiled eagerly.

Dumbledore flicked his wand, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, rising high above the tables and twisting itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," the headmaster beamed, almost like a wizened, wrinkled child, "and off we go!"

All what Danny could recollect of the experience, long after it was over, was that it was absolutely horrendous. There was no coordination; none started at the correct time; none ended at the same time. Danny himself only mouth the words in near perpetual terror, and he wondered how Neville, nervous wreck that he was, sung so clearly and eagerly.

 _It must be some sort of natural talent_ , Danny grumbled to himself. He wasn't sure if he himself had very many of those.

Clapping ensued, though he had no idea why.

"Ah, music," Albus Wulfric Dumbledore said, wiping a faux – or so Danny hoped – tear from his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Danny sincerely wished with all his being that he had not come to Hogwarts to learn music, if the headmaster had decided that it was a greater magic than magic. Nevertheless, he followed Percy out of the Great Hall, and through the traversing and intersecting corridors of Hogwarts. He was astonished to realize that all the pictures in the hallways moved.

He was even more astonished when the first staircase they stepped on floated its way up to the next precipice.

So it was that when they stumbled upon a bundle of walking sticks hovering midair, he had thought it was a normal occurrence in the halls of Hogwarts. He realized, _hoped_ , it was less of a normal and more of an unusual occurrence when they all attacked Percy.

"Peeves," Percy told them, with a half-growl, half-whisper. "A poltergist." Danny only had a second to his dismay before Percy raised his voice, "Peeves – show yourself." It was a stern command that expected, no demanded, to be obeyed.

It was met by a raspberry, a rude arrogant gesture suggesting anything but obedience.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?" Percy threatened, his face alarmingly turning a similar shade to his shockingly red hair.

A pop, and suddenly a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

Danny's heart sunk. Ghost. Again.

This one looked malicious.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with a cackle that would only augur dark times ahead. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

A walking stick swooped at their heads. Danny threw himself at the ground.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" he heard Percy's voice, muffled through the thickness of human bodies.

The clack of wood against the floor. Rattling coats of armor. Bodies relaxing. Danny tentatively picked himself up from the floor.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy said, as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

A portrait of a very fat women in a pink silk dress hung before them.

"Password?" she said, and Danny pretended to not be surprised that she could speak.

"Caput Draconis," Percy said. The portrait swung open, and the first years tentatively stepped through, trying to not think of how a women had just stood in that very space moments before.

They had finally arrived at the "common room," a place of warm gold and red colors, coating a cozy-looking room. A stir of excitement rose within him as he realized that he was in one of whistling towers that they had seen from the lake, but was promptly squashed by the site of large sitting chairs. They were in prominent display, and all Danny wanted to do at that moment was collapse into one of them, so tired did he suddenly feel. But Percy ordered them up to the dorms – separate ones for boys and girls – and finally he had entered the room that would be part his for the next year.

There were six four-poster beds, each with a trunk at the foot of it and soft red velvet curtains draped at the side. The first year Gryffindor boy stared at them in stupefaction, before yawning and pulling on their pajamas. It was not long before they were settled, and many of them had fallen asleep.

Danny was not one of them. He remained wide awake.

It was strange, because of his previous sentiments and the sleepy dizziness that had seemed to accompany him. But the place was far too unfamiliar, and too much had changed since the day before. It was dizzyingly disorientating.

Also, his thoughts, despite his vehement attempts to forget, always seemed to return to the topic of astronomy. How accepting magic meant that he would gain one dream at the price of another.

He stood up.

There was no point in fruitlessly trying to fall asleep. He began his descent down the dorm stairs, fumbling and tripping in the dark as he made his way to the common room. He was relieved to see the light of the hearth fire burning as he arrived.

To his half-hearted shock, someone was already sitting in one of the arm chairs.

"Couldn't sleep?" Percy's voice drifted to him, surprisingly soft.

"No," Danny agreed as he walked toward the warmth of the fire. "I couldn't."

It was surreal. An older boy, in a position of authority no less, and him, average Danny Fenton, chatting casually.

He sat down. The armchair was just as comfortable as it looked.

"It happens sometimes," Percy said. "It's why I stay down here the first day. Every year there's always someone who misses home."

"And you?" Danny found himself asking. The redhead slowly shook his head with a wry smile.

"Sometimes I think that I have too much of home with me here in Hogwarts, with Fred and George." Then, almost as an afterthought, "And Ron, I suppose. There are things I miss of course, and not all the family is here, but Hogwarts has become something of a second home." If Danny hadn't been staring steadfastly into the fore, he would have noticed Percy's appraising gaze. "Give it a chance, and I think you'll settle in fine."

Danny didn't reply, and soon the echoing remnants of the conversation melted into the silence, imbuing the silent air with its cumbersome connotations. Danny didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to sit here. Rest. Not think.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find himself dwelling on the subject of astronomy once more.

"Percy," he said, rather abruptly. The prefect's head jerked up sharply at the noise, as if he'd been about to nod off. "Is there…" He faltered. "Do wizards have the opportunity to go into space? Or to study stars? _Anything_ of the sort?"

The prefect seemed to blink very slowly at him, almost owlish.

"Of course," he said after a pause that was just a hair too long. "There's an astronomy class that you'll be taking this year, and you can take more advanced levels later if you choose to do so. The Ministry of Magic – I'm nearly positive – also has a branch devoted to stars. But it's obscure." He frowned pensively. "Very obscure," he repeated, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

"Oh." So no actual space travel. "Thanks."

Maybe he'd find a way. Seven years was a long enough time to figure it out.

 _Wasn't it?_

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

She was the very picture of forcible self-restraint.

" _No_ ," Hermione said, far too obviously attempting to hide her irritation and failing. "That's not correct. It's supposed to be Grindelwald that terrorized the country, and Dumbledore the one that stopped him. It's why he's so famous, you know; it's not only because he's the headmaster."

Neville had an expression of wonderment on his face. "Really? Why didn't Mr. Binns just say that?"

Mr. Binns was a ghost. He also was the professor of History of Magic. Danny supposed it made a twisted sort of sense.

 _If only his class weren't so boring._ He yawned.

"It's only the second day of school. Why do we need to worry about homework?" he complained, as all students were apt to complain.

" _Yes_ ," Hermione said, looking inflamed. "If you're not going to worry about it now, then when are you going to start worrying about it?" The words were quite reasonable. The tone suggested anything but.

"Preferably never," Danny replied cheekily.

This was the beginning to many such conversations between the friends. History of Magic was oftentimes the cause of them – for if Danny were to be perfectly honest, the ghost wasn't much of professor at all, with that droning, unenthusiastic voice of his – and he had to frequently ask Hermione, who was somehow alert enough to scribble down just about every word, to explain the lesson to them. She didn't take to it well.

The next day, however, fared much better, without any such nasty argument. They had their second Herbology lesson with the Hufflepuffs, a far more hands-on experience than History of Magic had been. Neville particularly excelled in it, and was strangely quick to absorb every fact surrounding the plant they were examining.

At night was their astronomy course – Danny's obvious favorite. He had known much of what they had viewed that night beforehand, but it was fascinating to hear the explanations from a wizarding perspective. He wondered which was the true explanation for star's revolutions, and found himself reluctant to let go of the science he had learned in his prior school experience.

Then, on Thursday, came Charms.

If Danny were his sister, he might've described Professor Flitwick as avuncular. However, he was not his sister, and so settled with the simpler title of "jovial" and "kind." Indeed, these were the words that remained in his head whenever he gazed at the stout Charms professor for many years after. He knew, from the other students' whispers, that this man was also the head of Ravenclaw House.

He had also heard rumors that this man was half-goblin, and looking at him now, he found it difficult to imagine otherwise. The main was short – as short as the goblins at Gringotts – and had a sort of impish face that had settled well into his older years. Nevertheless, he found himself himself liking the merry professor.

"Welcome, welcome!" he had said cheerily as they each entered the classroom, standing on a tall pile of books. When he called roll however, he toppled right off the stack with a small squeak when he came to Harry Potter's name.

It was endearing. Embarrassing, but endearing.

Professor McGonagall, he discovered on the same day – much to his great dismay – was both the head of Gryffindor House and the teacher of the Transfigurations class, purportedly the most difficult of all. Hermione had been enthusiastically chattering about it earlier.

It would be an injustice to say the class had not met their expectations. Oh, yes, it seemed fascinating. Professor McGonagall had transfigured her wooden desk into a pig and back – much like she had at the Fenton household. After a long half hour of note-taking and cramped hands, she set them to attempting to transfigure a wooden match into a needle. Danny had taken all of it in with wide-eyed enthusiasm. It _was_ interesting, and yet...

The problem, really, was that he liked the stern woman, and didn't want to let her down.

He knew he inevitably would. It was a hidden shame, deep within him, that insidiously whispered those words to him. This was magic. Such a wonderful thing. How could someone like him, weak "Fentina" or "Fentonio," match up to the splendor of _that_?

He stared at the blank wooden match for the longest time, his hand resting on his wand.

"Mr. Fenton?" It wasn't the strict call of a teacher from across the room, but instead the worried murmur of an adult. Danny startled. She was right next to him. "Are you quite all right?"

 _It's funny_ , he thought. _She asked me that right before I was Sorted too._

"I'm fine," he said with a sickly, tight smile. "Sorry."

She hesitated.

"If you ever need anything…" She trailed off.

"Thanks," he said earnestly, but also wished that she wouldn't do this now, when so many eyes could be watching. In class, no less. "I'll work on trying to transfigure the match now." He was hyperaware of his hand resting on his wand, the strange current of energy that accompanied the connection. The slight tingle in his fingers.

When she had left, Hermione was quick to turn to him, a frown plastered on her face.

"What was that about?"

Danny shrugged.

" _Are_ you feeling well?" Hermione persisted. "You do look a bit down."

"I'm fine," Danny repeated stubbornly. He sought a distraction, and his eyes landed on her wand. "Why don't you try the spell?

Transfiguration involved a series of complicated hand movements rather than a simple uttered spell, like most other branches of magic. Only when in the more advanced stages of the art could the wizard transfigured with a single swish of the wand. So it was that as Danny watched Hermione cast the spell, it seemed like a series of a strange dance, her hand bobbing and weaving to an unknown rhythm.

When she was done, her match had turned silver and pointy. A quick inspection of the rest of the room revealed that she was further along than any of the other students.

"Wow," Danny marveled, genuinely impressed. "You're just good at everything."

She raised her chin proudly.

"It's hard work, and reading ahead. If you want, I could recommend some books…"

Danny smiled, previous argument forgotten.

"That's all right." He picked up his wand and stared at it curiously, its thrumming vibrations. A slight lift, like a bird lifting off to begin the sequence –

– and he was dancing. Not as Hermione had, not bobs and weaves to a beat, but rather a spiraling twisting web, twirled one way and to the next. The textbook would have called his movements inefficient or crude, but the energy of the magic astir inside him drove him to continue forward. It was a song in his ears, the blood rushing and adrenaline stirring at simple hand movements, even when the rest of his body remained stock still. Still his wand hand moved, moved, and moved. Danced, sung, and envisioned what the match would become.

He faltered. Silver. Pointy. What constituted a match? Suddenly the excitement faded into indirected bewilderment, and a sick, nasty feeling coiled in his gut. He felt _wrong_. The magic thrummed in his fingers, built up to a quivering tension. He needed release.

He closed his eyes, blind to the world, wishing for the moment to be over, yet that also, inexplicably, a perfect silver match would be in front of him.

It was not.

His hand gradual stilled. His breaths became even. It wasn't so bad – it had changed color, and the edges were sharper, but when he touched it, it still had the same quality of wood. Like a toothpick perhaps, painted an odd shade of gray. It repulsed him.

 _Magic_. Why was it having this effect on him?

"Oh, look!" Hermione's voice was delighted. "You almost got it! On your first try!"

She spoke as if she hadn't just done the same, and had done a better job of it to boot. Still, he smiled for her.

"So did you," he said.


	7. Humanity: Chapter 7

A/N: I'm currently studying for the next SAT, so that would the reason why there might be some strange vocab in the past chapter and this one. After all, the best way to learn a word it to use it, haha.

As far as this story goes, I'd like to ask for some honest feedback. I've been looking through some of the earlier chapters and realized how much work they need. So my question is this: has my writing been getting better? Is this a story you honestly look forward to when the notification arrives, or just something you read because it's there? Since I'm asking you for honesty here, you can tell me my story sucks, and I promise, I won't get mad. Just make sure to tell me _why_ it sucks if you do, though.

 _Guest:_ Indeed. And here is that next chapter you requested! ;)

 _87 pages posted as of December 21st, 2015. 100 pages written._

P.S. Also, wanted to make a shoutout for this small, starting up DP HP crossover that has far less reviews/favorites/follows than it merits: **Ice in the Ashes** by Here's2tomorrow (updated somewhat recently in December so you should be able to find it easily). I think that if we give this story and author the attention they deserve, then it'll definitely turn into something great, so let's do our best to show our love for good stories! ;)

Credit to LordVortex for informing me of the Happy/Merry Christmas thing. I now shamelessly steal that information and use it for my own wicked ends.

Chapter Seven

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

What is it that I always speak of here? Of philosophical notions, the ramblings of an old man? Well, it is no matter. I write here as I will, even as I recount my own story below.

In any case, I would like to discuss Professor Snape, and the subject of friendships – no matter how unrelated the two appear to be. Perhaps the connection is that both can be swallowed with a pill – a grain, forgive an old man – of salt.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

If Hermione's excellence caused him to feel the stirrings of jealousy and resentment, it was Neville's ineptitude that drew out the deep feelings of sympathy within Danny, and a desire to form a sort of tight bond based on the commiserations of inevitable failure. The dual nature of this, however, was that when faced with Neville's failures, he felt a frustration akin to facing his own. It was not a pleasant feeling, and so no such bond was formed.

Instead, they remained looser friends, able to easily strike up a conversation, but neither having a genuine interest in the other's goingons. Neville was flattered for the attention and Danny grateful for a friend, but it was impossible to forge a deeper friendship within the mere week they had known each other.

So it was that he approached Seamus and Dean, two boys who seemed to have become as inseparable as Harry and Ron. That is, not too tightly bound, but nevertheless close companions, one always by the side of the other.

"Hello," Danny said lamely, his excuse running through his mind. _I was just wondering if you wanted to…_

What was it that he had wanted to do with them? He couldn't remember, not when they both had turned to look at him so, however kindly their expressions seemed.

So, instead, he said: "What's up?"

It was such an _American_ thing to say that it made Danny cringe, but Seamus at least seemed to take it in stride.

"Well," he said, making a show of looking up at the common room ceiling, inspecting it closely with a hand resting thoughtfully on his chin. "I do suppose the _sky_ would be there, but I'm afraid I'm not able to see through the tower cieling." Then he let go of the pretense, grinning stupidly at Danny. "But maybe that's not what you meant. You're from America, right?"

That's right. He had told them after the Sorting Ceremony, when everybody had been sharing their familial stories.

"Yup," he said, grinning stupidly back. "Born in America, lived in America." He shrugged self-deprecatingly, making a joke of it. "So if I guess if you ever want to know anything about America, I'm the place to go!"

"And if you ever want to know about Britain," Seamus echoed mischievously, "I suppose we're the place to go!"

He matched Danny's tone so perfectly that all three couldn't help but laugh.

"I _have_ lived here for more than a year," Danny said crossly, trying to keep the smile from his face. "So I'd like to think that I know more than _you_ , about both places."

"Oh?" Seamus raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"I think we can beat you on that," Dean added smugly.

"Really?" Danny said, allowing his skepticism to leak into his voice. "What _do_ you know about America?"

"What do _you_ know about Britain that I don't?" Seamus countered.

"Well," Danny said, delaying, "For one, I know a secret society of wizards lives here."

They were unimpressed. Danny held up a finger, as if to say, _But wait! There's more._

" _And_ , I also know that you say 'Happy Christmas' instead of 'Merry Christmas.'"

They looked at each other.

"That's more an observation on America though," Dean complained.

"Alright," Danny said, warming up to this now. "Well, did you know that there's an area somewhere north of London that's supposedly a hotspot for ghosts?"

Again, they traded looks. Seamus seemed curiously eager enough about it, but Dean was more suspicious.

"Isn't Hogwarts north of London?" he said. Danny was startled.

"Oh!" Now that he thought about it, that was entirely possible. "I suppose that makes sense…" Too much sense. It meant his parents had been right in detecting ghostly activity.

He blushed, embarrassed. His hand reached to rub his neck.

"Well. Well, uh," he searched for a rebuttal. "What do _you_ know about America that I don't?"

"There's a Salem Witch Institute." Dean smirked at him. "School for girl wizards."

"I guess I didn't know that," Danny conceded. "But that's because I'm muggle-born?"

"Still, that means we win," Seamus said, grinning. Danny frowned at him.

"No, now wait a moment. _Dean_ was the one who said that. _You_ probably didn't even know about the… school in America either, and you started the bet."

"Yeah, of course," Seamus waved his protests away as if they were mere thin air, "But Defense Against the Dark Arts is starting soon. You don't want to be late, do you?"

Danny frowned. The abrupt topic change had hardly been subtle, but Seamus _was_ right. It was very easy to become lost in Hogwarts, and so leaving the common room ahead of time was always a good idea. Even then, the moving stairs, trick steps, and _Peeves_ all combined made the journey difficult.

"I suppose..." he said reluctantly, "Just let me get my books."

After all, that had been an implicit invitation to walk with them, right? Hermione had already gone ahead, so it would be nice, if they didn't mind...

When he returned, they were waiting for him. The three casually stepped through the portrait door, walking as naturally as if they had been friends all their lives. There was, of course, the natural difficulty of walking as a trio: hallways always seemed to crowded or too small, and one member was usually either in the front or in the back, but nevertheless, they proceeded smoothly past the trick steps, up the hovering staircases, and without a single sighting of Peeves. Apparently, the two had already gathered a rather extensive knowledge of Hogwart's infrastructure and knew the go-to's and the desperately-avoid's.

This, Seamus explained to him, had not been the case on the day they arrived September 1st. In fact, the two had ended up nearly entering the sealed off the dreaded third-door corridor – and what a tragedy that would have been! Luckily, Sir Nicholas, who had been wandering about the area, had warned them off before anything too drastic had happened.

Other misadventures involved the Weasley twins, who Danny realized must have been the two redheads watching the spider in the train. It was from them that the two had learned most of their greatest, most valuable nuggets of knowledge.

"Forgive me if I won't impart all of our secrets to you yet," Seamus told him grandly. "We do have our pride, you know."

"How many secrets could you have learned in a week?" Danny wondered aloud, a challenging note in his voice.

Seamus laughed, a sort of sniggering, unpleasantly high-pitched noise.

"From the Weasley twins, you could learn any number of things in a _day_ ," he said.

When the conversation moved on, Danny was left to wonder if maybe he shouldn't have dismissed those redheads as insane on the train.

So it was that with Dean and Seamus' almost intimate knowledge of the castle that they arrived at class in a sole ten minutes, a significant improvement to what would have taken Danny alone half an hour or more. The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was located in the more secluded recesses of the castle, sequestered and hidden as if the professor had chosen it knowing that some great dark creature would be pursuing him. Even with Dean and Seamus there, they had almost walked past it, so obscure was the entrance.

The inside of the classroom was not much better, and the professor seemed to be the least impressive of all.

Professor Quirrell had a nervous demeanor, shaking his hands repeatedly and his eyes suspiciously darting from student to student. A turban was wrapped hastily around his head, and Danny found himself again wondering at the oddities of wizards. It was safe to say, however, that Professor Quirrell did not "dress to impress" (as those honeycoated voices of his old kindergarten teachers would tell him to, his mind mentally cringing at the memory of those sickly sweet tones). Instead, his attire was quite ramshackle, and, well, Danny was anything _but_ impressed.

"Danny!" Hermione greeted him brightly as they entered the classroom. Then she inspected his companions, almost quizzically. "Hello, Dean, Seamus."

"Hello," they chorused. The two almost shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, and Danny was suddenly painfully aware of her reputation as a know-it-all, someone who was largely avoided by her peers. A painful tug in his usually apathetic child's heart sent him boldly striding to the seat next to her.

Dean and Seamus followed him. The seats, fortunately, were set up in rows, so that there was plenty of space for many students at the same table. Danny could see that Hermione had saved a seat for Neville to her right, and felt immensely grateful that no one would feel excluded.

They sat in silence for a while, the only students so far in a vastly empty classroom with a teacher closely watching them, before Hermione finally spoke up.

"I heard this class is cursed," she offered tentatively.

Danny looked at her owlishly. _Cursed?_

" _Cursed?_ " his voice echoed, almost a squeak. He glanced at Professor Quirrell to see if the topic seemed to bother him, but the professor barely reacted. He noticed some other students entering, looking at their table curiously.

"Oh yes," Dean jumped in, almost smiling. "I heard that every year, they have to hire another professor to teach the class because something _always_ happens to the old one." There was a slight, almost imperceptible, emphasis on the "heard" that told Danny that it was likely the Weasley twins that had told him.

"Deaths, mysterious sicknesses, a sudden prank that makes the professor not come back," Seamus said, and there was a smirk clear on his face. "I wonder what'll happen to _him_." He jerked his head towards the front of the room, just to make it clear who exactly he was talking about. Obviously, he had noticed the same thing Danny had, and did not have very much respect for the teacher for it.

This time, there was a visible reaction on the professor's face. Danny panickedly slapped his hand over Seamus' mouth, even as Hermione scolded him for saying such a terrible thing.

Seamus' eyebrow lifted inquiringly at Danny, and he sheepishly removed his hand.

"Is that a thing Americans do often?" he asked, making a show of wiping his mouth.

Danny scowled at him, fully intending to tell him to shove off – a distinctly British phrase that was sure to impress. But before he even opened his mouth, he spotted Neville hovering by the doorway, and all thoughts of rebuttal fled. He waved him over to the seat Hermione had been saving.

"Hey," he said, after the boy had sat down.

"Hi," Neville said, looking at their tablemates. Seamus didn't hesitate.

"Neville," he said in a mock-whisper, leaning towards Danny so as to get a better view of the boy, "Did you know that Americans apparently say 'Merry Christmas' instead of 'Happy Christmas'? Isn't that strange?" He shot a pointed look at Danny.

Neville blinked.

"Really?" he said. Then a realization seemed to come across his face, and he turned to Danny. "Your accent – you're American, aren't you?"

Danny struggled to hide his annoyance.

"Yeah, but I've lived here for over a year."

"Why'd you move?" Neville asked curiously.

"Well…" He was saved from answering by a sudden influx of students rushing through the door in a last-ditch effort to not be late. A moment later, class had officially begun.

"H-hello," Professor Quirrell began. "I-I will be t-teaching you D-defense Against the D-d-dark Arts this year. Th-this class will…" And so it went. It was almost difficult understanding the man, what with his stutter.

Danny wondered how he could teach them how to defend against the "dark arts" when the professor couldn't even say the words properly.

Then he berated himself for his insensitivity. If Quirrell had some disability, or perhaps even trauma, it was none of his business. He steeled himself against the urge to scorn the man, and set himself to try to earnestly listen to his professor's quivering voice.

But it was difficult when he could hear Seamus' quiet snickers beside him.

However, these thoughts quickly fled from his mind as his mind finally _did_ process what exactly Professor Quirrell had been saying about the curriculum and what they would learn, and that later that lesson he would begin outlining magical theory. Practicals would come later, but they would be a major focus for this class. After all, Defense Against the Dark Arts was all about the application of magic.

It was with a sort of quiet fear at those words then that he fingered his wand in his pocket, rolling his joints around the smooth wood nervously. Magic was such an illusory prospect; there was no way to just force it to work. As far as he could discern, he also could not coax magic to existence. In fact, the only thing he _could_ do was wave his wand the way he was supposed to, say the words, and hope something would happen.

And that, made magic probably one of the most terrifying things he had experienced. For yes, it was supposed to be wonderful and it was, but he couldn't help but feel excluded from it all. As if he weren't good enough.

When he had gotten his wand, he had thought he had earned a friend. Now he wasn't so sure.

Danny sudden recalled what Hermione, Dean, and Seamus had told them about the curse on the DADA position. He looked up at the stuttering mess at the head of the classroom, suddenly seeing him in a new light.

Was this what it was like, to be cursed?

 _No_ , he dismissed the thought. _It's not the same. He probably doesn't feel any different, and my problem couldn't possibly be a_ curse.

It didn't even feel like a problem, to be honest. Not in the solid, more tangible way that the word "problem" seemed to suggest, a challenge to surmount. Instead, it was abstract; Danny simply had an _issue_ , something that had occurred and he did didn't particularly want it to happen again. Maybe if he ignored it enough, it would go away.

Either way, he was relieved when, an hour later, Quirrell dismissed them from class without asking them to utter a single spell – that was a treat that the professor had decided to leave for the next lesson.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

The next morning found him in Potions class – a double session with the Slytherins and their head of house, Professor Snape. It was bound to be interesting, or so the whispers of his peers promised. All the first-years somehow seemed to be both scowling and smirking simultaneously as they gathered at the announcement board in the common room. Danny, for one, hoped that the "interesting" would, for once, be kept to a minimum.

When he arrived at the classroom, deep within the melancholy darkness of the dungeons, he faced the excruciating decision of whom to sit with. Dean and Seamus were already paired, so there was no awkwardness on that front, fortunately. Hermione had already arrived to class early, which was only typical, and there was a depressingly empty seat next to her. Danny knew that if he sat next to her, Neville wouldn't have a friend to partner with.

So it was with a hesitation that he strode over to the seat beside Hermione. A cauldron was already set up on the table, ingredients neatly organized around it. A potions book with a neatly bound notebook on top lay to the side, and so Danny hastily brought out his own.

Neville was one of the last ones to enter. Danny could see the indecision on his face as he entered to find a classroom with only the sparse unfamiliar face with a desk that remained open to him.

It didn't take long for Danny to realize that there were only nine Slytherins and eleven Gryffindors. Which… made for an awkward situation.

Neville ended up paired with a pale-faced stringy boy, who Danny would later discover was Theodore Nott. His worried glances ever so often at their table were fruitless and unfounded; Nott appeared to be a perfect gentleman, for a _Slytherin_. (Already the title held sort of a soiled, slimy connotation in his mind.)

Finally, the professor entered the classroom, charcoal cloak billowing behind him. The attention of the room snapped to him, the idle clishmaclaver silencing in its wake.

"Welcome to Potions class," Professor Snape sneered as his gaze roamed their faces, looking almost bored even while maintaining an expression of perfect contempt. "Now, I expect you fools to understand that when I call your name, you are to answer. No funny business. No pranks." His steady gaze bored into them, and as a collective entity, the first years shrunk back. The professor's mouth twisted as if he were recollecting a sour memory.

He picked up a piece of parchment. "Lavender Brown," he called out softly, a quiet presence that demanded respect nonetheless.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, from the Gryffindor side of the room (for the students had naturally formed a split along the center aisle, save for Neville who had been stuck with the Slytherins), a girl's voice squeaked, "Here!"

And so it went. It seemed a testament to each and every student's willpower to speak up and inject more volume into their voice. Danny's own trial had been a pathetic, sad thing, to rival even Lavender's girlish squeak.

Then Professor Snape reached Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said silkily, with so much velvet that it could have cut a saw in half, "Harry Potter. Our new… _celebrity_."

Snickers from the Slytherin side. Danny glanced suspiciously at Theodore Nott, but found, whether to his relief or disappointment he didn't know, that he had not been one of those who laughed.

Instead, it had been a blonde-haired boy and two thick-set… blobs next to him who were the perpetrators. Danny narrowed his eyes as he watched them. He didn't like the look of them.

Far too reminiscent of the bullies that had tortured him in his younger years.

Professor Snape's voice drifted to his ear, the snickering long over. Danny returned his gaze back to the Potions master, inexorably drawn in. The professor had the talent of keeping a class silent without effort, and despite Danny's usual more limited attention span, he was able to catch every word.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Professor Snape began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate powers of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to speech."

Danny felt an unfamiliar urge as he listened to the speech. A thirst to do well, to prove himself. It was a burning passion, and he vowed to himself that he would not be one of those dunderheads. Somehow, Snape's words had snaked their ways inside him, embroiling him into the focused undercurrents of his forceful, yet soft, words. There was a certain power in that, but Danny had not realized it until much later.

At that moment in time, that inflamed passion was dissipated at the site of Hermione Granger, looking just as eager to prove herself as Danny had felt, replaced by a sour curdling feeling in his gut.

He liked Hermione, but…

"Potter!" Snape barked suddenly, and Danny jerked ramrod straight at the abrasive loudness of the call, compared to the soft velvet of earlier. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Neville had hunkered down, trying to hide himself behind the desk without actually moving. Hermione's hand, conversely had shot up. Harry looked stricken.

"I don't know, sir," he said.

Professor Snape sneered at him, lips curling into a rather unpleasant expression.

"Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything."

Hermione's hand went unnoticed, or – if Danny was understanding the situation correctly – ignored. The three Slytherins who had been snickering earlier were now laughing fullheartedly, and _the teacher wasn't doing anything._ No, worse, the teacher was the one _causing_ the injustice.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand stretched higher. Neville winced, as if seeing what was coming. The Slytherin's laughter grew more boisterous.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" the Professor said, an ominous smile playing on his lips, his eyes as cold as ice.

Danny shrank back, frowning. He felt so helpless against this blatant abuse of authority, as if it were him that were the target and not Harry. Except this was so much worse, because he was willingly doing nothing.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand crept higher.

"I –" Harry began.

Danny stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the dungeon floor. His hands were angrily slammed onto the table, but not as gratingly as the sound of the chair had been.

He realized, when everybody's eyes turned to him, including the Professor's charcoal, abyss-like eyes, that he didn't know why he had stood up, and what he would say.

Almost dizzily, he realized that Hermione's hand had dropped to her side, and that she was now staring at him with very large eyes. He briefly glanced at her before meeting Snape's dark black, finding a strange sort of strength within him that stopped him from averting his eyes.

"Mr… Fenton, is it?" the professor asked after an eternity had come and gone.

"Yes, sir," Danny said, equally soft. He didn't move. He didn't dare move, for fear that this mysterious courage would suddenly desert him.

"Sit down," the professor said, dark eyes filled with disdain.

Danny stumbled down into his seat, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He realized his knees were trembling.

 _I just faced down a teacher_ , he thought in a sort of hazy shock. It didn't feel real.

"For your information," Snape lectured, as if nothing had happened, "asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons, as for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you copying that down?"

While everybody else was rummaging for their quills and parchment, Danny simply opened his notebook already laid out in front of him, a dim buzz of gratitude in his chest for Hermione's preparedness.

Maybe he was just being querulous. Nitpicky, like a mother hen watching her chick fly for the first time. Well… perhaps not a _hen_ , but any sort of bird… being… overbearing?

Soon, all the first years were being put to work. The task was to create a simple potion to cure boils, but Danny privately thought it was very complicated. He was glad that Hermione seemed to find an enjoyment in the potion creation, because despite his curiosity for everything magic, the potions textbook remained inscrutable to him.

Oddly enough, the Potions master seemed the favor the blonde-haired Slytherin boy who had laughed at Harry. From the professor's praise (or so a lack of criticism had been interpreted as with a teacher such as this one), Danny had quickly learned his name: Draco Malfoy, pureblood heir to a vast fortune.

It was during one such incident as Professor Snape was telling what an excellent example of stewed horned slugs that Malfoy had made, that things took a drastic turn.

Neville's potion had turned an ugly shade of red, and was currently seeping across the stone floor. A loud hissing noise marked the demise of Theodore Nott's cauldron. Neville, drenched in the same mysterious liquid, was moaning in pain as angry red boils sprouted up on every surface of revealed skin.

Danny winced in strained sympathy, and quickly snatched his feet from the ground as soon as he realized that the spilled potion was making holes in his shoes.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Professor Snape, clearing away the spilled potion with one wave of his wand, and Danny gratefully let his feet fall to the floor. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered, and Danny wanted to yell at the man, telling him his friend was in pain. His foot involuntarily stepped forward, as if he were about to stand up, and the Potions master spun to him.

"You! Take him up to the hospital wing," he ordered, before looking at Nott, who had been Neville's partner during this mishap. "Tell me what happened."

Danny didn't stay to listen to Nott's response. He immediately rushed to Neville, half carrying him to the hospital wing as he supported his friend's weight. Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts nurse, met them with a horrified gasp, hastily rushing Neville to a bed while she ran to grab some potions.

After Neville was situated, Danny remained standing. There was a brief silence.

"Thank you," Neville said so quietly that he almost couldn't hear.

Danny smiled.

"Just feel better."

It is suffice to say that bonds between friends strengthen in times of hardship, and in this strange instance, Professor Snape was the cause.


	8. Humanity: Chapter 8

A/N: So. I've been doing some pantser-planning, writing in scenes that happen way later, or figuring put what goes in each chapter for the first year. Plus some long-term plans.

"Book One" is called "Humanity." I added it to the chapter selection thing to the side (so that would be the reason why, if you noticed), but it won't become relevant for a long while. It's split up differently than the HP books, and I only have a general gist of what this first one's like so far.

This chapter, however, has one of the ideas/scenes that actually made me start this story in the first place, so I hope you enjoy it. Deviation from canon, yay!

 _Guest:_ Thank you _so_ much for catching that! I sort of write out of order, jumping around before I forget the thought, and then come back to fill in the blanks after the more difficult part is finished. It usually works for me, but somehow I just forgot to write in that part – even though I knew pretty much exactly what was meant to go there. Well, it's fixed now, thanks to you. ;)

Here's the completed sentence: "Even with Dean and Seamus there, they had almost walked past it, so obscure was the entrance.

The inside of the classroom was not much better, and the professor seemed to be the least impressive of all."

 _97 pages posted as of January 10th, 2016. 113 pages written._

Chapter 8

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Music is a language more intuitive than the spoken word, more deeply intrinsic and vital to the human soul. Its crests and falls, its withering refrains and punctuated staccato beats, all of it ties together to create a harmonious – or a disharmonious, as it may be – song. There is a sort of meaning within every phrase, as every sentence carries it's own weight, just as a note is to a word.

But I digress. My point is that music is a form of discourse far more intimate than the simple word. It can bring a sense of community, of shared elation, of joy. It can also trigger haunting memories, a chilling fear or sense of horror, a depression – as well as a sense of catharsis. It is all of this that seemed to have affected me in that moment, as I sat in the common room and heard true music in Hogwarts for the first time. When I finally _listened_ to what I heard.

Perhaps Dumbledore was right, with his proclamation of music being a magic beyond the wonder of Hogwarts. Perhaps these are simply sentiments expressed by two old fools.

But I'm inclined to trust in my own experience, and so I stand with these words, words that I believe are potent enough to rival only the simplest tune or jig.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Neville had long since been taken out of the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, had declared him fit to leave and attend classes within the hour.

Now it was Thursday of the next week, and all the Gryffindors were once more staring at the assignment board, groaning as they realized that the class which they had looked forward to the most – flying lessons, _on a broomstick_ – would be shared with the Slytherins.

Breakfast was spent eagerly (or nervously, as the case may be) discussing the topic.

"Flying!" Danny had said in awe when he sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, a stupid smile on his face. "Today! Flying!

The incoherence of his words could, perhaps, have been attributed to the dizziness he felt due to his extreme excitement at this new, wondrous facet of the Wizarding World.

Seamus slapped him friendly on the shoulder, an equally stupid grin on his face.

"I'm glad you can appreciate good sport, my American friend," he said dramatically, but the red flush on his cheeks showed that he was no less excited than Danny. "But yes! Flying! Quidditch!" He grinned in such a way that everybody couldn't help but laugh.

Well, except for Hermione. Her nose was deep into a book, her eyes looking almost frantic as they darted wildly from line to line.

"What are you reading?" he asked her curiously.

" _Quidditch Through the Ages_ ," she said, finally looking up. She bit her lip. "It's just – I'm so –"

"Worried?" Neville suggested weakly. Danny looked at him, and saw that instead of the red flush he and Seamus had been sporting, Neville looked quite pale.

He remembered how Neville had professed his disability to fly on the train, and frowned.

"Yes, that's it," Hermione said, uncertainly. "I'm… worried."

"But why?" Dean asked incredulously. "Flying is easy."

"That's easy for you to say," she scowled. "I don't know anything about it except… except what I've read in this book! I didn't have a magical upbringing like you."

"Danny's also Muggleborn," Dean said reasonably, "but he's not scared."

They all looked at him. Danny struggled to contort his face into a reassuring smile.

"Er, yeah," he said. "I'm sure the teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen."

Seamus snickered. Danny glared at him.

"Of course," Hermione said, relieved. "You're right. The teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen." She spoke it almost as if it were to become her mantra.

Danny glanced at Neville, noticing how he didn't look so reassured as Hermione.

"What's wrong?" he asked, even though he thought he knew.

Neville squeaked.

"Look," he said, "we're all going to be fine! It'll be fun!"

Hermione nodded fervently, somehow jumping onto his side of the conversation. "He's right, Neville. And I've learned loads of tips from _Quidditch Through the Ages_ already! Would you like to hear them?"

Neville nodded, and somehow it turned into a full-blown lecture after that. Hermione rattled off her tips while Neville listened eagerly and everybody else looked bored. Danny tried to listen, he really did, but there was that odd quirk of _trying_ to listen that made it more difficult the more earnest the effort was.

An owl swooped down to the table, dropping off a package and cutting off the lecture, much to the majority's relief. Everybody turned to Neville curiously. They watched him as he tore open a small carefully-wrapped brown package and revealed a small glass ball full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained, his nervousness from earlier turned into a strange sort of distracted excitement. "Gran knows I forget things – this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red – oh…"

It had turned red.

"... you've forgotten something…" he mumbled. His face screwed up as he concentrated hard, trying to remember what he had forgotten. Danny frowned as he looked passed Neville to a group of boys who were passing the Gryffindor table. He took a moment to remember who they were.

 _Of course_. It was the blonde-haired Slytherin from Potions class who had laughed at Harry, with his two cronies.

His fine-honed instincts from middle school warned him this wasn't going to end well. He stood up from his seat, just as the Slytherin snatched Neville's Remembrall straight from his hand.

He strode to the Slytherin, an angry scowl on his face –

"What's going on?"

It was Professor McGonagall. Danny felt immensely grateful. A teacher who would actually act.

"Malfoy's got my Remembrall, Professor," Neville said, squirming as the teacher's eyes rested on him. The Slytherin student – Malfoy – dropped the Remembrall carelessly back onto the table with an ugly expression on his face.

"Just looking," he said, and left.

Danny noticed Harry and Ron, who had been sitting just a little ways down the table, sit down. He let his feet guide him back to his own table, and smiled.

Maybe Neville had more friends than he thought.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Before their first flying lesson, however, they had Charms class. It was to Danny's great misfortune that he had not recruited Dean and Seamus' help in arriving there, for Danny had crashed into Mr. Filch and Ms. Norris in a last-ditch, _running_ , effort to not be late.

Mr. Filch was the caretaker of the school. The title was a misnomer, however, because it implied a sort of "care" that Mr. Filch lacked. Danny heard he liked to hang students to the ceiling by their fingernails if they upset him.

Ms. Norris was his cat. She was arguably one of the things that made Mr. Filch even more terrifying, as it seemed that she had eyes and ears everywhere.

So it was indeed to his _great_ misfortune that he had crashed into them. All three tumbled to the floor, somehow meshed together into a spinning ball that ending in a tangle of limbs – either cat or human – and wizard robes.

As they all slowly untangled themselves and stood up, Danny heard words that he doubted were appropriate for a child of his age to hear, in a _school_ , nonetheless.

"You – you _imbecile_!" shouted Mr. Filch, with such a volume of voice that seemed impossible for his thin and scraggly frame. "Stupid _arrogant_ student, running in the halls!"

That was the least of it that Danny had heard, the curses only getting worse as Mr. Filch dragged him by his robe collar to his office. He winced; such words did not seem to hold the sweet taste of forbidden fruit in this situation.

"Sir, I-I have to go to Charms class," he said, when he realized they were going in the wrong direction.

"Do you now?" Mr. Filch snarled. "We'll see how much is left of you by the time you get to _Charms class._ " He said the words mockingly.

Danny gulped.

He never did arrive at Charms class that day.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

"Where were you?" Hermione hissed to him when he arrived onto the Quidditch pitch, more traumatized when he had last seen her yet fortunately with all his fingernails intact.

"Mr. Filch caught me," he said, and it seemed that the horror in his voice was excuse enough for doing something as dastardly as skipping.

"How did you escape?" Neville asked empathetically.

Danny shook his head, shivering at the memory.

"McGonagall saved me," he said. "But I think I made it worse by turning Filch's cat green."

" _What?_ "

"I was surprised too," he said, and refused to say anything more on the topic. Desperate times had called for desperate measures.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

The three quickly scurried over to the neat line of brooms. Danny stood between Hermione and Neville, and looked uncertainly down at the broomstick. It wasn't the neatly combed and shiny one he had seen in Diagon Alley, for sure.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," ordered Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Danny's broom gave a half-hearted jump, not quite reaching his hand. Hermione's sort of rolled on the ground, and Neville's didn't respond at all. Looking at their terrified faces, an idea sparked in his mind.

He forced himself to forget the errant twigs, the broken line of the broom, and to instead recall the feeling of elation at the thought that he was going to _fly_.

"Up!" he set, and the broom shot up into his hand. He grinned.

Next, Madam Hooch showed them how to mount their brooms properly, and once everybody was on, she walked down the line correcting grips. Danny smiled to hear her telling Malfoy, the Slytherin bully, that he had been holding his broom wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," Madam Hooch told them. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle – three – two –"

Because of his nervous anticipation (where he had leaned into the broom, tensing his feet and getting ready to kick off), he had almost not noticed Neville already making the motion to kick. But he did, and so when Neville jolted off the ground, he found himself rising with the boy, his hand tightly grasped against Neville's arm.

When he realized just what had happened, and the fact that there was _no broom under him_ , his first thought was _oh, crap._

His second was, _Why does something bad always happen to Neville?_

And third, _Wow, I'm really flying!_

After that, however, he concerned himself more with the staying alive bit.

With a strength he didn't know he had, he lifting himself onto the broom so that he wasn't hanging off of Neville's arm.

"Neville!" he yelled, remembered Madam Hooch's instructions, "Lean forward!"

He did. Unfortunately, it was too much weight that they put, and they were both sent spiralling straight towards the ground. Danny managed to keep a hold of the broom, pull it beneath both of him with a tight grip, and keep Neville behind him so that when they crashed, Neville would have the softest landing.

All things considered, the crash went much better than it could have been. Danny had forgotten about his hand, however, and it impacted the ground with a nasty _snap_. The broom shattered upon impact.

A blistering pain shot through his wrist.

Madam Hooch rushed over to them, her face pale. He wasn't quite sure what she said, but suddenly he was being carried over to the Hospital Wing, deposited in front of Madam Pomfrey, the nurse. It happened all quite fast, and all he could think about was the pain in his arm.

He remembered his words from earlier. _"The teachers wouldn't let anything bad happen."_

Hermione had been an idiot to believe him. If this wasn't bad, he didn't know what was. He stared at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing, wondering why it was _him_ who faced such pain when surely the teacher could have just saved Neville with magic.

Danny was suddenly aware of Madam Pomfrey eying him critically.

"It's only a broken wrist," she said, finally. "Easy enough to solve. Now give me your hand." He gave it to her obediently, and she grasped it firmly, pulling out her wand. "This is going to hurt," she warned.

"What!?" Danny shrieked, and tried to pull his hand away. It already hurt enough. But it was too late; she had already cast the spell.

There was a brief flash of pain, and then he looked at his healed hand, whimpering.

"There, there," Madam Pomfrey said. "It'll feel better soon. Now, I expect you to get plenty of rest and not pull any stunts like that again. Understood?" She shoot him a stern look.

Danny nodded meekly.

"Alright." She sighed. "Well, I suppose you can go now."

It took a moment, but then Danny lit up. He was _healed_. It was alright now. His hand was no longer in pain.

"Really?"

"Yes," she said. "Go on now. Out with you."

She seemed rather eager to get rid of him, but Danny barely noticed. He rushed out of the hospital wing and to the Gryffindor common room in what must have been a record time. Well, a record time to him at least, considering he had never been in the hospital wing before – it had still taken at least half an hour, but the time passed quickly to his dazed mind.

When he arrived, he stopped right in the middle of the portrait entrance, gobsmacked.

They were having a party.

A party.

 _What?_

He hesitantly stepped inside, and noticed one of the prefects playing a banjo. And another one playing an electric guitar (one that he suspected was from the showcase in the Muggle Studies class). And Fred and George, singing like it was Karaoke night.

That is, they were singing awfully.

Everybody gave a collective cheer as Danny entered.

"For the little firsties first flying lesson!" Fred (or was it George?) toasted.

"And for the hero that went to the hospital wing for it!" the other Weasley twin continued.

 _What_.

"Uh…" he said intelligently.

Seamus sidled up to him, putting an arm around his shoulders, holding a tankard in his hands that Danny eyed suspiciously. Seamus led him further into the common room.

"Here, have it," he said, thrusting the drink into Danny's face. "It's butterbeer! Fred and George sneaked them in after they heard."

"Heard what?" Danny asked dizzily.

Seamus grinned.

" _Fifty points_ from Slytherin. And look at Neville! The Slytherins were bullying him – when McGonagall came, she was _furious_."

"McGonagall?" he asked. He nodded fervently.

"Oh yeah. And do you know what Neville did?"

"What?" he asked. It didn't feel real.

"He told Malfoy – he really said this – that he should go make friends with a piece of dung, because they were so much alike! And then – and _then_ – Neville's Remembrall turned red!" Around them, the common room roared with laughter, and Danny was suddenly aware that everyone was listening in.

"Oh," Seamus then added, like an afterthought, "Malfoy was holding the Remembrall then." Then he noticed Danny not drinking the mystery tankard and pushed it into his face again. "Come on, drink it! It's really good!"

"But I'm a minor?" Danny said.

"No alcohol," Seamus said, grinning. He skipped away, ostensibly to get another drink. Danny noticed he had veered off to where the Weasley twins were.

"Did you really save Longbottom?" an unfamiliar second year girl asked a moment later. He blinked at her.

"Er, I guess so."

Then it dawned on him.

 _I really did save Neville, didn't I?_

"That's awesome!" she said, grinning, and gave him a friendly punch to the arm that made him wonder if he was already disobeying Madam Pomfrey's instructions. "Welcome to the House of the Brave!"

Then she left. Danny tried a sip of his drink.

 _Huh_. It was really good, like warmth and memories of home (the good ones) in a drink. He took another sip.

"So –"

He nearly spilled the drink when he heard a loud voice speak right behind his left ear.

"You're Danny Fenton, right?" a minisculey different voice spoke from behind his other ear.

He looked up and realized that the awful Karaoke noise that had been produced by the Weasleys had been replaced with awful Karaoke noise that had been produced by Seamus and Dean.

He should have known.

"Yeah, that's me," he said, eyeing them skeptically.

"Great!" one of them grinned.

"Would've been a shame if we introduced you as the wrong person," the other said.

Danny floundered for words. Then, remembering the drink in his hand and what Seamus told him, he asked, "You smuggled this in to start up this party?"

They both looked very smug.

"Of course."

"Just popped by Hogsmeade."

"Bought it in loads."

"We bring in good business to Honeydukes –"

"– so they gave us a discount."

They both nodded, as if they had just imparted a wisdom worth an entire treasury. Danny decided not to ask about their possibly-shady dealings.

"Why is there a party in the first place?" he blurted.

The Weasley twins exchanged glances.

"Well, _fifty points off Slytherin_ –"

"– not to mention that thing with Harry –"

"– and Neville's grown a backbone –"

"– but really, we just wanted to throw a party."

They grinned, in an eerie unison.

"Well, keep up the good work, firstie!" One of them clapped him on the back.

"We have to go now."

"You know, pranks to plan."

"Parties to throw."

"So long!" They threw him another grin, and dashed away to who knows where. Danny was left to stand there rather awkwardly with a drink of butterbeer in hand but a bemused smile on his face, and so eventually went to join Neville and Hermione.

Once the Karaoke stopped, the music was actually pretty decent. He still didn't know how they had persuaded the Muggle Studies teacher (whoever they were) to borrow the electric guitar, where all those other instruments had come from (for indeed, he thought he saw a clarinet out there), and how the students had even gotten so good at playing with no official Hogwarts band, but he found himself having fun. Hermione was somehow persuaded to laugh at some pretty stupid things (like spilling butterbeer on Seamus' head for his horrible singing) and Neville was blushing the entire time as people went and congratulated himself for "growing a backbone." Danny himself felt a warm glow of pride that he could either attribute to the butterbeer, the presence of good friends, or the feeling of having performed a heroic act.

All in all, he felt happy.


	9. Humanity: Chapter 9

A/N: I just want to put it out there that this chapter practically wrote itself. It is completely different from what I originally planned it out to be (and also ended up a lot shorter than the rest of the chapters), which was just basically a bridge between the last chapter and the next (which I'm very excited to finally be able to post, after I finish writing the first half), but... Well, I'm not going to say anything more here. Hehe.

Also, Quirreldemort seems to have gone towards a "no," so it probably won't be thing. I'll probably take away the poll after I post the next chapter, so if you have a strong opinion about that, you should head over to the poll.

 _104 pages posted as of January 21st, 2016. 116 pages written. We passed the 100 page mark, yipee! XD_

Chapter 9

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

The happiness, the music, all of it – it didn't last for long. Soon, what had been bright and joyous was overcasted by the very real problems that seem to cut their way into our lives. Grades, however trivial they seem in retrospect, had been one such issue. The other…

Well, perhaps it is best to not speak of it now.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

"Could you believe the nerve of them?" Hermione ranted. "They just – ! Oh, it's so _frustrating_. Why don't they listen?" "They" meant Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, and according to Hermione, they were the most reckless, most _infuriating_ boys that she had ever met.

"You saw a three headed dog?" Danny said dumbly, still in shock at the tale she had told him. A three headed dog. In the forbidden third corridor.

He had never felt more glad that Sir Nicholas had stopped Dean and Seamus from entering that room on the first door corridor. Nevermind that Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone in and somehow survived –

"Yes!" Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly. "And it was guarding something! But that doesn't _matter_ , you see, _because they broke the rules_." She said "the rules" as if it were something sacred.

Danny could see when he should back off, even though he was practically _dying_ of curiousity.

"That was pretty risky of them," he agreed reluctantly.

 _What was in the third floor corridor?_

" _Risky?_ They shouldn't have done it in the first place!"

"Mmm."

The conversation sort of died out of that, even as Hermione fumed. Danny couldn't help but feel glad for it, even as he wondered what sort of secrets Hogwarts was hiding.

He cast his thoughts back to what Hermione had told him, and smiled.

 _Neville had been there._

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

In the weeks that they had been in Hogwarts, Neville had changed. Their friendship had done something to him, made him more outspoken and bold. Yet, there was still a reluctance, a pause before every word, that told Danny that it was something he dared himself to do rather than a natural assertiveness.

The change wasn't enough to convince Neville to try and help Danny figure out what might be under the trapdoor in the third floor corridor.

"Please?" Danny begged.

Neville shook his head to say "no," but Danny thought if he pushed a bit harder, his friend would change his mind.

The event ended in disaster, however, when Hermione walked into the common room, a strange sort of smile on her face. It disappeared when she took in the two of them, the words that she had last heard lingering in the air shooting through her brain lightning-fast.

She did not appear to like the conclusions she came to.

"What are you doing?" she asked, accusatory.

"Nothing!" Neville squeaked, just as Danny said, "Trying to figure out what's beneath that trapdoor."

They glanced at each other, both slightly alarmed and angry at the other's response.

Hermione scowled, undiscriminating with her reproach.

"You're not planning on doing anything stupid like _going there,_ are you?" she asked.

Danny really hadn't been, but there was something about the way that she leapt to assumptions that made him angry.

"Well, what if I was?" he asked, lifting his chin defiantly.

Her eyes widened in an almost comical expression of surprise. She gasped, and her fingers spasmed around the book she held clutched in her hands. There was a strange, high-pitched sound emitting from her throat when she turned around and fled out the portrait entrance of the Gryffindor common room, muttering " _pigsnout, pigsnout_ " hurriedly as she left to where she had come from.

Danny stared after her, feeling quite lost.

"Nary a tarry when there art a fairy," Neville said wisely after a pause, looking at Danny sidelongedly as Hermione stormed from the room.

"What does that even mean?" he asked, still staring at the portrait frame and Neville shrugged, looking meek for a second before catching himself.

"It's a wizarding saying," he said, as if that explained everything.

He paused. Danny continued staring.

Then, finally,

"It means that you shouldn't delay when a fairy is involved," he said, a little hesitantly.

"A fairy?" Danny asked, but he was already rising. He didn't see Neville's nervous gulp or noncommittal shrug, because he had already rushed past the portrait door, making his own rushed utterances of " _pigsnout_."

He found her in the library, of course. She was tucked away in the far corner, nearly hidden from sight. A book was open before her, but her eyes were still and glazed, a difference from the usual eager darting as they traversed across ink and parchment. She looked surprised, then apprehensive, to see him.

"Hello," he said, as he sat down across her. He wasn't quite sure why he had been in such a rush to find her, now that he was here.

"I'm sorry," she replied immediately, "I don't know why I ran off like that."

He opened his mouth to give a reflexive "it's fine" when it occurred to him that _no it wasn't_. He looked at her, really _looked_ , and saw her face looked a little red and blotchy, her eyelids slightly puffy.

He had messed up. He just still didn't understand why.

"Hermione," he said, hesitating, before he decided to take the plunge. "What did I do wrong?"

If she had looked surprised when she saw him, it was nothing compared to the expression on her face now. She was stricken, and then tried to cover it up with a strange, blank smile.

"Sorry?" she said, the very pinnacle of polite behavior. "What did _you_ do wrong? Is that what you said?"

Danny felt nervous, but he nodded anyway.

"Oh," she said faintly.

"Oh," he agreed, feeling as if he should say something.

"Look," she said, leaning in in such a way that it almost seemed that she was somehow even more distant from him, "it's fine. Let's just stay friends, all right?" Her very was very small, and it cracked on the word "friends," as if it was too presumptuous a word to say.

 _Oh_.

Now he understood. He had felt it himself, but had done his best to forget until now.

"Hermione," he said empathetically, "just because we have arguments doesn't mean we're not friends. We've had arguments before, remember?"

"But those weren't as –" She struggled to find words. "As, as _important_."

"Important?" he asked.

"Yes, important." She paused. "You could get expelled from doing something like that."

Normally, that kind of response would provoke boisterous laughter. This time, he didn't laugh.

"But that's not the real reason why," he said flatly, the echoes of an aching pain of _betrayal_ pounding through his chest.

She glanced away. "Well, no," she admitted, "I suppose not."

A pause.

"Were you bullied?" he asked bluntly, thinking he already knew the answer. He realized too late the cruelness of the question, when she recoiled from him.

Emotions, as plain as the ink of the books she loved so much, flashed across her face. Hurt. Anger. A forcible imposed self-restraint. She took in an audible breath.

"Yes," she said evenly, challengingly.

"I was too," he said.

There weren't any words where she could have replied adequately to that, but she didn't need to. He pushed on.

"I was also bullied," he said, "because my parents are ghost hunters, freaks to normal society. I don't know how bad it was for you, but because of that, whenever I had a friend…" He struggled to stop water from leaking out of his eyes. He wasn't sad, not really, but it was an involuntary reaction that was difficult to prevent when he remembered things such as this. "Whenever I had a friend, I did whatever I could to keep them. Favors, not arguing with them…

"What I'm trying to say, I guess, is that I understand. And that when I…" He cast his mind back, searching for an appropriate phrase to use. "When you came in, I was angry that you had thought I was doing something wrong right away, and I didn't think about what you had been saying _meant_ to you. It was like…"

Like a friend abusing a "favor." Someone betraying your trust. The one who had dangled the bait of becoming a "friend" and your truest defender, making mock of your ideals and highest values.

He didn't say any of that. He thought she already knew, was experiencing it now.

"I'm sorry," he finished, earnestly. He met her eyes, and wondered if the wetness at her eyes was an involuntary reaction like his tears were.

"You're wrong," she said, after a long pause. He only had a brief time to wonder what she meant before she continued. "It's still happening."

It took him a moment to understand. Confusion turned to outrage.

" _What_?" He had to control himself to keep his voice down; otherwise, Madam Pince would throw them out of the library.

"Not to the same degree," she admitted, "but it's still happening here. Nobody likes it when I'm smarter than them, even wizards."

Danny fumed. An urge to _hurt_ those who would do such a thing (did he know them?), to _protect_ because he couldn't let what happened to him happen to her again, and _howhadhenotnoticed_ –

"Who?" he demanded.

She shook her head, frowning, looking as if she almost regretted telling him.

"It's really not that bad. They're only saying things."

"Only saying things" meant it had been worse before. Danny frowned.

"But –"

She lifted her head proudly. "I'm a Gryffindor," she said, "I can take care of myself."

He wanted to protest, but he understood too much to do so. She needed to take it on herself. Danny had escaped it by moving away from America, but she couldn't do the same. She couldn't step back

"Alright," he said, the word dragged out, reluctant.

She smiled at him.

"Thanks."

"But if you ever need help…"

"Thank you," she said earnestly, "I'll tell you."

"And if you don't," he said, looking at her, "I'll stick by your side anyway. You can tell me anything, and I _promise_ I won't hurt you like that."

Fentons take their promises very seriously, and at that moment, there was nothing in the world that could have deterred him from saying those words without the full force of his intent behind them.

"Thank you," she said again.

They sat in silence for a time after that, but it was a comfortable silence. Hermione closed the book that had been lying open in front of her, neglected, and stowed it away in her backpack. Danny mulled over the conversation, in retrospect thinking it to be one of the most significant, _adult_ conversations he had ever had. But he had meant everything he said.

When they both arrived together at the Great Hall for dinner, they discovered all their fellow Gryffindors making a great fuss about "what that package had been that was delivered to Potter." Some claimed it looked like a broom. At that moment, Danny didn't make much of a note of it.

He was more concerned with his friends, those people who were so much like him and were stronger than they knew.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Months passed. Danny didn't think much of what was under the trapdoor, per Hermione's request. It eventually faded out of memory as other matters took its place in the recesses of his mind.

It was strange to think of how much time he had already spent at Hogwarts, and how quickly it seemed to become a second home. His usage of a wand hadn't gotten much better, but it had gotten better, and soon he had stopped wondering why it happened to him and not anyone else. It was a glowing memory when Professor Flitwick had complimented him on his charms work.

"Well, well!" the half-man (or so the rumors told) had beamed as he passed Danny's table as he cast the assigned spell. "Would you look at that! You're improving quite nicely, Mr. Fenton."

The compliment was only enlarged by the fact that Hermione had sat next to him, with her perfect demonstration ready at hand. He knew he would never match up to her, but it was nice, hearing such words from the professor.

 _Improving_. It was something worth remembering. It suggested hard work and toil, a formidable constitution. He liked the thought of that.

He smiled, feeling oddly light. Halloween was tomorrow.

If only had he known just what a kind of a day it would be.


	10. Humanity: Chapter 10

A/N: What if I told you that the first half of the first chapter actually held one of the most important plot points to this story? ;)

(Only a "what if." Who knows if it really does?)

*whistles merrily* Enjoy!

 _112 pages posted as of January 27th. 121 pages written._

PS. Also, not quite sure if I pulled it off successfully or not, so any honest comments are greatly appreciated.

Chapter 10

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

It was Halloween that it happened. The incident. The precursor to future troubles. The harbinger to worse times. A portal to the dawning future, if you will.

If that day had not happened as it had, then I believe that my future would have been vastly different. I would have been ordinary – not a muggle, but nevertheless ordinary. Perhaps I would not have had the vast array of regrets and pains I experience today, but I can not find myself wishing that it had happened any differently.

Still, there is a reason why Hogwarts students are not allowed outside on the school grounds at night.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

 _Halloween_. He hummed happily at the thought. It had always been a holiday favorite of his, unfettered by the arguments and misery that accompanied Christmas (as both of his parents did, in fact, believe in ghosts). This year, the was promised to be even more spectacular than the showcasing of his parents' inventions, with the Hogwarts feast looming ahead and the decorations at every corner.

There was a strange tingling sensation he felt as he skipped down the halls, almost as if the magic were buzzing within him. He felt open, abundant with energy. A part of him that he scarcely recognized was now running rampant with a daring that would have appalled him on any other day.

"Hey, everyone," he greeted the table with a wide grin as he skipped to his seat, ready for breakfast.

"You seem cheery," Seamus said.

"Is there any reason not to be?" Danny asked, laughing. "It's Halloween!"

But even on Halloween, they had classes to attend to. First was Charms to start off the day, and Professor Flitwick had promised to finally teach them how to levitate objects – a feat which all of them had been expectantly looking forward to after a demonstration earlier in the year.

After he had gone over the basics of the spell, he assigned all the students into pairs. Harry Potter with Seamus Finnigan. Neville Longbottom with Parvati Patil. Danny Fenton with Dean Thomas. Hermione Granger with Ronald Weasley.

Danny noticed Hermione looked distinctly unhappy about the pairing, and that there was a fairly sour expression on Ron's face as well. He wondered about it for a moment, before turning back to his own wandwork. He _knew_ he would be able to perform the spell this time; the magic abuzz within him was proof of that. He felt like skipping from the extra energy, but instead focused it into the spellwork, smiling at Dean, his new partner for the day.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" Professor Flitwick squeaked from the top of his pile of books. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the words properly is very important too – never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Swish and flick. Danny mimicked the movement once, for practice, and found it fluid and natural.

" _Wingardium leviosa!_ " he said confidently.

Nothing happened.

Not a twitch, not even a rustle of the feather bristles. Nothing.

He stared at it in disbelief.

 _But_ … His mind cried in weak protest, _I thought_ …

Yet there was still that insufferable energy building up within him, and he felt so restless he had to do _something_.

He swung his head wildly about the room, searching for something, anything. His gaze landed on Seamus, who was just about to cast a spell –

His feather caught on fire. Danny jumped to his feet in a wordless cry, eager to have something to do, but Harry extinguished it with his hat before anything could happen. He dropped back down to his seat, feeling listless, bursting with energy.

"Are you alright, mate?" Dean asked, concerned. Danny stared at him for a moment, mouth agape, before he finally translated the sounds and cadence of a voice into actual meaning.

"Er, yes," he said quickly, too quickly.

Fortunately, they were soon distracted by Professor Flitwick's high-pitched outcry of congratulation and the sound of clapping.

"Oh, well done!" the professor said, smiling. "Everyone see here, Miss Granger's done it!"

And indeed Hermione had performed the levitation charm successfully. Danny turned to see a feather hovering above her head, her wand pointing at it, and smiled. The restless energy calmed down.

 _Maybe she can teach me_ , he thought, because it seemed to be a hopeless case for Danny without Hermione's help.

Class was over too soon, and almost everybody – except for Danny – had been able to levitate their feather at least a few inches from their desk by the end of it. He tried not to think too much about it, and rejoined with Dean and Seamus to walk to their next class, a tradition that he greatly benefited from by not being one of the last to enter. He still didn't have quite the grasp over the castle that they did. It was only a few minutes before they arrived at History of Magic.

He slipped into the free seat next to Neville, frowning when he noticed someone missing.

"Where's Hermione?"

Neville frowned, looking worried. He gestured to Parvati Patil, who was talking enthusiastically with Lavender Brown. "Ask _her_."

Danny didn't ask, but with just a minute of listening in, he discovered that Hermione was currently hiding in the girl's bathroom crying.

That was the first time he had ever seriously considered skipping class (it was only _History of Magic_ , after all, and they never learned anything there anyway, so why bother?). Still, he stayed. He didn't go after Hermione. Parvati had said she had wanted to be left alone, and anyway, he couldn't exactly get to her when she was in the _girl's_ bathroom. So he sat back down into his seat with a frown, worrying all the while throughout class.

He hoped nothing too bad had happened to her.

After class, they all went directly to the Great Hall. Sumptuous food appeared on the tables in golden goblets and silverware, but he wasn't interested. The restless energy, now an antsy urge that left him tapping his foot as he sat, had returned. He still didn't see Hermione.

Finally, he stood up, intending to go after her, gender divisions be damned, when Professor Quirrell burst into the room, sprinting to Dumbledore with his turban askew and eyes wide with fright.

"Troll – in the dungeons – thought you ought to know."

The man dropped into a dead faint.

 _A troll?_ Danny thought bewilderedly, staring as the Great Hall festivities erupted into pandemonium. It seemed too sudden a switch to comprehend. Hermione, and then a troll…

 _Hermione. Troll._ His mind made the connection.

Panic flooded his being, a frantic worry only intensified from his previous concern. He whirled around, searching for somebody, somebody who would know what to do. _There_. His eyes rested on Professor McGonagall.

Dumbledore was speaking. "Prefects," he said, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Danny ignored Percy Weasley's reassuring calls for the first years to follow him, instead weaving through the crowded bodies to the teacher's table, where Professor McGonagall would be. He arrived panting for breath.

"Professor," he said, and felt the curious eyes of all the staff and found himself not caring, "Hermione's still in the bathroom! She doesn't know about the troll!"

"Hermione Granger?" McGonagall looked suitably alarmed. He nodded his head eagerly, and she turned to the other teachers. She looked quite severe in that moment, more grave than he had ever seen before. "Severus…"

Danny was startled to see her referring to Snape, and even more so that the bat-like man _understood_. Snape nodded cordially to her, a terse expression on his face, and strode quickly from the hall. Professor McGonagall looked back at him, her face softening as she gazed upon the boy.

"We will make sure Mrs. Granger will be safe. Now, follow your prefect back to the common room before they leave without you."

He was skeptical and still worried, but there wasn't much else he could do. He nodded morosely and scampered back to the doors of the Great Hall to follow after Percy Weasley.

The walk back to the common room was like a great blank in his mind. It passed without a second's thought, and it was all too soon that he stood in front of the portrait of the fat lady guarding the Gryffindor tower. He later attributed it to shock, but the nervous thrum he felt seemed to discount the white blankness he would have expected from such an emotion.

It was in the common room when he finally learned the truth of the matter.

"I wonder if Hermione is okay," Lavender whispered to Parvati, not at all sounding sincere. "Do you think she's still out there?" The other girl shook her head.

"Maybe. With what Ron said to her though…"

Danny's head shot up as if electrified. _Ron? What_ Ron _said?_

"What was that?" he asked Parvati casually, ignoring the startled looks they gave him for butting into their conversation. "What did Ron say?"

They tried to keep up their pretense of nonchalance, even when they knew how close the friendship between him and Hermione ran. Parvati shrugged noncommittally.

"I'm not sure," she said. "All I know is that it was something nasty, and she ran away crying. My sister saw her in the bathroom, and told me." She said something else, but he wasn't really listening anymore.

The nervous thrum had transformed into something uglier, a raging beast. Primitive, animal-like. Angry. He remembered his promise to Hermione. He remembered her saying she could take care of herself. He remembered her telling him that she was still shunned, even here.

The realization that _Ron_ was one of those people she had been talking about, all those months ago, hurt, and the hurt made him angry. Angry at this person who had betrayed his trust in such a way. For it was no anonymous stranger who had done this wrongdoing to Hermione, but someone he had considered a _friend_.

It was a betrayal of the worst kind, made worse that it had not been done to him, but instead to _Hermione_. Hermione, stickler for following the rules, best intentions always in mind. Hermione, the girl who wanted to be brave. Hermione, the genius who would know the subject by heart even before it spewed out from the teacher's mouth, and still think it not enough.

Ron had made her cry.

Ron, a bully. He couldn't let that pass.

He let out a pent-up breath, and felt some of the anger diminish, minisculely. It was still there, ever-present, but it wasn't the blazing inferno of hurt, indignation, and fury it had been moments earlier. He set himself more steadily onto his feet, and searched the common room for the target of his aggression.

Nothing.

He frowned. That was odd. Everybody should have been –

Oh. The portrait door had just opened. Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley stepped in through the entrance.

All thoughts of reason fled his mind at the sight of that freckled face. It was one thing to know a person, a friend, as a bully; to see his face and recognize it as one who had hurt _Hermione_ , to warp the image of a smiling, friendly face to one of treachery and cruelness – that was a vastly different thing. The boiling simmer of his emotions flared into a crescendo, his hostility rising to new heights he had never experienced previously.

Danny marched up angrily to the famed celebrity and his redheaded friend. It was Ron who he glared at, the one who felt the full force of his fury. He felt his hand trembling, imagined himself driving that bony hand into the plump face and freckles of this boy. The satisfying crunch it would give.

"You're a bully," he said, and he was surprised how cold and vicious his voice sounded. He ignored Harry Potter's shocked look. " _Leave Hermione alone._ Or you deal with me."

"Look, mate –" Ron began. Danny cut him off.

"Look, _nothing_. That's it. Just leave her alone."

He stomped away, feeling not the slightest bit satiated. He almost wished he had punched Ron in the face, despite the pain he knew it would bring. But no, no, Hermione wouldn't have wanted that. Hadn't she said she wanted to take care of it alone? He felt hot, stifled. His hand itched for action. His blood sang with cold fury, and a strange insanity seemed to take over his mind as he walked, walked and walked.

His feet brought him outside of the castle, where the cold Halloween air would enter his lungs and the sight of the stars to meet his eyes.

Some tension dissipated at the sight. The night sky of Hogwarts was indeed beautiful, and it was refreshing for it to just be the stars and him alone, not viewed through the barrier of a castle window. He knew first years weren't supposed to be on the grounds alone at night, but he found that he didn't care.

The stars had always held a special power for him, something beyond the realm of simple mortal law.

His solace was short-lived, however. As his awareness of his immediate surroundings returned from musings on the constellations, he found himself shaking, his body clenched together so tight he felt as stiff as a boardwalk. Some sort of sixth sense was screaming in his mind to _runrungetoutofhereoutoutrun_ –

Slowly, without knowing why, he turned.

A hole in reality stood in the air before him. Green, glowing. _Violent_. Tendrils seemed to emit from the thing, flying off in various directions only to snap back moments later. The central body of the aberration was a multitude of spinning disks, a tesseract impossible to understand.

He wanted to back away, to listen to that voice screaming in his ear and _runawayrunaway_. But his feet refused to move.

He watched as something floated out of the portal ( _Portal?_ a small part of his mind thought, in the way that the most trifling thoughts occur in the most desperate of circumstances. _To what?_ ). It was floating. Green. He recognized it as the color of death.

 _A ghost_. Not the Hogwarts, wizarding kind of ghost, that had awakened simple memories of childhood tales his mother had told him. Oh, this was much worse.

It was all the most haunting stories come to life, and more. An impalpable terror had awoken in him, as innate and ancient as the fear of prey in the face of its predator, knowing it faced its end. He trembled, captured by its horror, enthralled by its fearsome majesty. He was helpless.

Too fast it seemed, the ghost was in front of him. No, inside him. It was gone. No, _he_ was gone.

His thoughts sputtered to a stop. He felt hazy, confused.

 _What had just happened?_ He saw green light, as if it came through a blurry lenses. _What_ …

 _SsssslleEEeeepP_ , a voice told him. No, not a voice. A thought. Wasn't it? He was just tired. That was it. He wanted to sleep.

He yawned and lifted his hand to wipe his bleary eyes –

His hand didn't move. He didn't yawn. Nothing happened, except a flashed feeling of irritation, distinctly foreign.

Suddenly, he didn't feel tired anymore. The world crystallized, becoming focused and sharp once more, and suddenly he knew exactly what had just happened.

 _Watch out for those ghosts!_ he remembered his Dad explaining, overly exuberant like always. _If they get a hold of you, they might overshadow you!_

 _Overshadow?_ Danny had asked half-heartedly, already at an age that allowed a healthy dose of skepticism for his parent's antics.

 _Possession_ , his mother had said kindly. _Ghosts can possess you if they get near enough._

He had been possessed. A ghost had possessed him. Was still possessing him.

 _SsSLLEeePp_ , the voice said more forcefully, and Danny knew this time it wasn't simply his own thought, telling him he was tired.

His fist clenched, in anger rather than the panic that had overtaken him earlier. He was shocked that he had been able to move his body at all, but obviously the ghost's possession wasn't as complete as his parents had thought.

 _Get out of my body_ , he seethed. He remembered his anger from earlier, at Ron and Harry for making Hermione cry and putting her into danger. That had been _nothing_ compared to this, this indignation and hatred for this casual _violation_ of his body. _Get out!_

He felt the ghost's shock, almost as if it were his own. Almost animal like, the ghost seemed to cower back, retreating into the midst of Danny's mind. He felt some sensation in his limbs return, as if the reins of control over his own body had been returned to him.

It wasn't enough.

" _GET OUT!_ " he screamed, and the sound echoed through the cool night air.

The ghost fled.

When Danny's racing heart finally calmed down and he felt the last of the burning coals of his anger dwindle, he suddenly felt drained, as if he had just run a long marathon. His mind was in shock. A ghost, _a ghost just like the ones Mom and Dad were researching_ , had just attacked him. Had just tried to take over his body.

And it had failed.

He didn't know which part astonished him more.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

When he returned to the common room, he found Harry and Ron waiting for him. They stood up from the comfy armchairs rather hastily after spotting him entering.

"We saved Hermione," Ron blurted. "When the troll came, we went to the bathrooms where she was – knocked the troll right out."

Harry, beside him, eagerly nodded.

"You saved her," Danny repeated numbly, too tired to say anything else.

"Yeah." Ron seemed to hesitate, seeing something in Danny's face. "Are you alright, mate?"

Danny's heart rate picked up. Was it so noticeable? Did something look out of place from the ghost attack? He almost couldn't bring himself to care, but somehow it _mattered_.

"I mean, are we okay?" Ron said lamely after a pause, and Danny felt an inexplicable relief, wondering why even as he felt it. Why had he wanted to hide the incident from his friends? "About Hermione?"

Danny stared at him for a moment, unable to think. His mind still rested on the subject of the ghost, that cruel, green monstrosity.

"Yeah," he said at last. "We're okay."

Then he left, trudging up the stairs to the dorm room. A shiver seemed to wrack over him as he pulled his blanket over his head, and he wondered why he felt so cold.


	11. Humanity: Chapter 11

A/N: Uh, warning? For... things. That may or may not be mildly disturbing.

I'm not quite sure how this chapter worked out. I feel like it could have been cleaner, more effective, but, well... Tell me what you guys think.

(Sorry about the long wait. Next chapter I'll probably put a brief synopsis or something. For this one though, I don't think that much has been happening in this story yet, except for the last chapter, to merit that.)

 _125 pages posted as of April 10th. 130 pages written._

Chapter 11

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

I was naive. So, so naive. I hear many people advising others to live without regrets, but I find it impossible to look upon my past and not think of how I could have been smarter, or wiser.

* * *

Growing Up

* * *

Danny began a shaky letter to his parents. He didn't mention the incident – he knew his parents would only obsess over it if he did – but it had reminded him that he hadn't sent word to them since arriving at Hogwarts despite his earlier promises that he would.

 _Dear Mom and Dad,_

After a brief moment of hesitation, he added " _and Jazz._ "

 _I'm sorry I haven't written to you yet. I've just been so busy, and I wasn't quite sure how the post system worked_

He crossed it all out. They were excuses, nothing more. He didn't want to begin his letter like that.

 _I'm scared. A ghost attacke_

An intense shiver wracked his frame, and the quill wildly whipped across the page, blotting ink across the parchment. After only a slight hesitation, he crumpled the paper into a small ball, tore it into little pieces for good measure, and threw it away. He sighed and began anew.

 _Dear Mom, Dad, and Jazz,_

 _I've been having a lot of fun at Hogwarts, he began, not untruthfully. I've been making friends in Gryffindor, and some even in the other Houses. The Hufflepuffs are nice, and sometimes the Ravenclaws – the smart ones – will help us out without homework if we ask nicely. The Slytherins are not as nice though, but sometimes I find myself liking the House rivalry._

He took a deep breath. It was all safe stuff, something any other normal first year would write about.

 _I'm sorry it took so long for me to send a letter. School's been busy, but I honestly forgot until now. I hope you all weren't too worried. If you want to send a reply, you can tie it to the owl and it should get back to me._

He sighed, and stared at the parchment, feeling suddenly unable to write anything else.

The day had passed miserably. He had kept on feeling chilly, shivering at the most random of times, and he was starting to wonder if he had caught a cold. (A more paranoid part of his mind wondered if it had to do with the _incident_ , but he dismissed the thought as ridiculous.) Hermione had been acting skittish around him, and he had almost _forgotten_ (how could he have forgotten something so important?) that she had been attacked by a troll the previous day, so preoccupied was he by his own thoughts. In Defense Against the Dark Arts, she hadn't deigned to sit next to him, instead opting to be with her "saviors," Harry and Ron.

At least Neville didn't seem to have anything against him.

He sighed again, and signed off the letter with a simple " _Love, Danny._ " He stood up and started for the Owlery.

On the way, he passed Hermione, carrying far too many books and heading in the direction of the library. She didn't look at him as he walked past.

He tried to recall what he had said to her, and found that the memory just wasn't there. He had been so distracted, he might have said anything and he wouldn't know.

A horrible feeling of guilt arose within him. He stared after her, torn, the letter in his hand. His indecision had cost him precious time, however, and soon she was gone, rounding the curve.

"Mi-mister Fenton?" A voice startled him, and he whirled around, heart pounding. Yesterday's incident was too quick to rise into his thoughts for any such surprises, and for a moment, he found himself genuinely afraid of this stranger's voice.

It was Professor Quirrell, wearing his turban, stuttering and looking nervous as usual. He felt himself relax.

"C-can I sp-speak with you?" the professor asked.

Danny nodded, curious, and followed as the man led him to a secluded office. He sat down at the offered seat, and an entirely different sort of tension overtook him as he stared at Professor Quirrell. It had suddenly dawned on Danny that there must be a reason he had wanted to talk to him, and usually these things didn't turn out well.

"Is this about my grades?" he asked nervously, his fingers tightening around the letter he gripped in his hands, and was awarded with an expression of surprise on the professor's face.

"Y-your grades? N-no, th-this is about something else ent-entirely." Professor Quirrell cleared his throat, his eyes flitting to somewhere behind Danny. He craned his head to look, but found nothing there. He met the nervous man's eyes, bewildered, and found that rather than looking away, the professor met Danny's blue squarely.

"Mr. Fenton," the man began delicately, "a-are you aware that a g-ghost has been following you?"

Danny froze.

"A ghost?" he squeaked.

The professor nodded.

"A m-malevolent sp-spirit. N-not like th-the –"

"How do you know?" Danny asked, impatiently speaking over the man. He felt himself shiver again, and felt a far more ominous suspicion than a simple cold would merit grip him.

He tried his very best to not turn around, to where Quirrell had been looking earlier, but couldn't help but sneak a few nervous glances to where the ghost must be.

"I-I _am_ a D-defense Against the Dark-k Arts professor," Professor Quirrell said. "I c-can recognize th-the signs."

"Can you _do_ anything about it?" Danny hissed, bringing his voice to a whisper despite knowing it wouldn't help.

The man hesitated, and Danny felt a chill that had nothing to do with the ghost's effects on him.

"I-I can try sp-speaking to the sp-spirit, but –"

"Then try it!" Danny knew he sounded hysterical, but he didn't particularly care.

"Mr. Fenton." The professor's voice, in that moment, sounded calmer than Danny had ever heard it. "We must first figure out why the ghost is f-following you."

"I don't know!" Danny all but bawled. The letter to his parents had long since been crumpled in his hands. "It attacked me yesterday, but –"

"Yesterday?" Quirrell seemed alarmed. "And you're still alive?"

Danny stared at him wide-eyed. Never, before that instant, had he considered how close he had come to dying.

And to his eternal shame, he could feel tears leaking from his eyes. In front of his _teacher_.

"I, I –" Now he was the one stuttering.

"T-tell me what happened," Professor Quirrell said, like a rock in a drowning ocean.

And so he did. About the portal, and the monster that had come through it. About the possession, and how he had fought it off. Professor Quirrell listened with an avid fascination.

"You fought it off?" he breathed, almost in awe.

Suddenly, a voice that was neither Quirrell's or Danny's spoke. It was a voice that had not belonged in this room, weak with disuse, almost inhuman.

" _Let me… ssspeak to the boy._ "

Professor Quirrell's face underwent a radical change. From sympathetic and awe stricken, to panicked and almost worried. Danny, too, felt his emotions flip over, as if his right to privacy had just been abused. He had just spilled out the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to him, in _private_ , and Quirrell had brought someone in with him?

"But master, you're still weak!" Quirrell protested, at the same time Danny asked, "Who is that?

" _Show… him_ ," the voice whispered, labored and heavy.

Reluctantly, Quirrell began unwrapping his turban. Danny stared on in a sort of stupefied bewilderment.

When Quirrell turned his head, however, all he felt was dead cold fear.

 _Whathowthisiswrongwrongwhatisthatsowrong –_

His body was not glued to the earth this time, and he made quick use of his legs, rushing to the door in an attempt to flee this monster. He was just about to turn the handle when –

" _Wait. Please._ " It spoke the second word as if it pained it.

He stopped. Slowly, he turned back and looked at what should have been the back of Quirrell's head, and quickly averted his eyes.

There was another face there, a face so monstrous he felt himself shudder at just the thought of it.

"What are you?" he whispered.

" _Ssomeone who can help you_ ," it replied.

"How?" he asked cautiously, hand still lingering by the door knob.

" _Your ghosst. It hass… an interest in you_."

Danny turned to leave, feeling sick.

" _I could make it go away._ "

He paused.

" _Or we... could usse this... to your advantage._ "

He couldn't stop himself from asking. "How?"

" _You… sssaid you… remained aware while possesssed. Could this… mean that… if you and the ghost were to… work together, you would perhaps… gain sssome interessting abilities?_ "

Danny didn't want to consider it. Still, his traitorous mouth spoke.

"Like what?"

" _Invisibility... perhapsss. Flying... without a broom._ "

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. It was true; these were supposed to be the abilities of ghosts. It was only a coincidence that these were the abilities Danny had most craved, nothing more. This… creature could not have known.

Still, he must be cautious.

"Why do you want me to have abilities like this?"

" _Asss you... can ssee… I lost my… body. A ssstone... in the castle can… help me... with this._ "

"You're human?" Danny blurted, and suddenly felt guilty for his assumption that this was some sort of strange, alien creature.

" _Yesss_ ," it – no, _he_ – said.

"I, I don't know what to think," Danny confessed, feeling a lot more at ease knowing that this wasn't some inhuman creature like the ghost. "How would the ghost and I even cooperate? I don't understand."

" _We… can help… with that._ "

He blinked. "But –"

"I am… weak. Quirrell can… explain."

Indeed, he sounded much more breathless than at the beginning of the conversation (a feat which seemed remarkable). As if taking his cue, Professor Quirrell turned around so that once more his true face was showing, and he slowly wrapped the turban around his head with adept, practiced fingers.

Danny stared at him in stunned silence, nearly forgetting the presence of the ghost until a shiver made its way up his spine.

"Umm," he said, "can you do something about the ghost?" He gestured to behind him, a sort of jerking motion.

"No," Professor Quirrell said, shaking his head without taking his eyes from Danny's face. "I cannot."

"Oh," Danny said faintly, and feeling as if he needed some sort of support, fell into the chair that sat opposite to the professor. The man observed him quietly as he wrapped his arms together in an effort to contain the shivers.

"I can, however, help you... work with the ghost. Now, if you'd prefer," he said, seeming bemused.

"Now!?" Danny squeaked, then coughed to clear his throat. "I mean… I guess that's what that… _man_ said… but I don't really understand…" He trailed off, his voice turning quiet, the last words only a soft mumble.

"It's fine," Quirrell said, his head cocked quizzically to the side, a small smile playing on his lips as if he were trying to figure a out a particularly strange puzzle. Then his face stilled, a strange look of acceptance or perhaps even _fervor_ pushing away whatever curiosity he held. His voice grew more soft, more forceful, more intense.

"These types of ghosts," a quick jerk of the head to a spot of space behind Danny, "are largely unintelligent creatures, but they are powerful. Intangibility, invisibility, flight – they are powers that are difficult for even wizards to match up to, since we must have certain _objects_ in order to perform these feats, while to a ghost it is natural. You know of Sir Nicholas, yes?"

It was strange, watching Quirrell like this. Usually, he was stuttering and stammering over his words, unable to utter a single comprehensive sentence. Now he was a man transformed; passion leaked through every word, a scholarly eagerness as he spoke. Danny stared at him, marvelling at the change.

He remembered that the professor had asked a question, and hastily nodded.

"Good. Ghosts like Sir Nicholas are unable to change planes to become tangible on this one, usually appearing translucent and unable to touch physical material. This is because of their low ectoplasmic density – there is something about magic that causes a less powerful ghost after death. Ghosts formed from Muggle souls or pure ectoplasm, however, are much more powerful and are able to choose when their abilities are in effect."

Danny's eyes widened in sudden comprehension.

"And those are the types of ghosts that my parents hunt?"

Quirrell cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Your parents?" Danny realized his mistake and cleared his throat self-consciously. His hand automatically flew up to rub against the back of his neck.

"Er, yeah. They're ghost hunters." He smiled sheepishly, hoping that Professor Quirrell wouldn't find it too strange.

"Ah." A pause. Danny waited in nervous anticipation. "Well, it may be best if you don't inform your parents of this… _incident_."

"W _hat?_ " He hadn't been expecting that response. "Why?"

"Have they ever caught a ghost?" Professor Quirrell asked patiently. Danny grimaced, and that seemed to be answer enough. His voice resumed its didactic, lecturely tone. "I believe that involving more people in this – especially those who believe they know what they are dealing with when they do not – would only cause more trouble."

Danny nodded. It sounded reasonable. He hadn't really been planning on telling them anyway.

The professor looked relieved.

"I'm glad you understand." He took a deep breath, and seemed to cast his thoughts back, eyes flickering to the side as he recalled the conversation.

"Ah, yes. Ghosts that are powerful tend to be less intelligent." The professor's stream of speech slowed, as if he were choosing each word with great care and deliberation. "However, they naturally gravitate towards human hosts. This usually provides them with the instincts… necessary to survive in a human environment. Often, they are able to access information from the mind of the human they are possessing.

"This does not make them more capable, or more clever.

"However, if a human _will_ , aware of the possession, were able to channel ghostly abilities to achieve a purpose… Well, _that_ would be a force to be reckoned with." The strange half-smile returned to the professor's face.

Danny jolted up, his spine ramrod straight as he stared at the professor in shock. He understood the implication.

"You want it to _possess_ me?"

The professor shook his head, and he felt a chill from behind him. He scowled, hunching his shoulders back in and instinctively making himself look small, the reaction of a prey to its greatest predator. Quirrell looked unperturbed.

"No, not quite."

"Then what?" he demanded.

"You would be the one in control," Quirrell reassured him. "The ghost would only be, well, inside of you, providing you the abilities that it naturally possesses."

Danny's face twisted at the thought. A small thrill ran through his body, thinking of the "abilities." The thrill won out.

Something still didn't seem right, though.

"But why would the ghost want to do it, if it's not in control?"

The smile on Quirrell's face widened, then disappeared a moment later. Danny felt unnerved, but dismissed the feeling as one of the ghost's effects.

"Think of it as a symbiotic relationship. Mutually beneficial. The ghost will also receive something from the arrangement."

He couldn't help but notice that the professor wasn't looking at him when he said that. His skepticism grew.

"Receive what?" he asked. Now Quirrell's attention returned to him.

"What a ghost regularly benefits from possession," Quirrell said mildly. "Experience."

"Experience?" He didn't bother trying to hide his disbelief.

"It is what they feed on."

He frowned. His thoughts snagged onto another thing that didn't seem _quite right_. Something he had noticed before in the conversation, but hadn't made anything of it at the time.

"Professor Quirrell…" he began cautiously. "Why aren't you stuttering anymore?"

The look of surprise on Quirrell's face was enough to tell him that _yes, there was something wrong going on here_. The long silence afterwards confirmed it.

Danny stood up from the chair.

"I'm sorry, professor. I just… I'm just not sure I want to do something like this. Does… does Professor McGonagall know?"

Still silence.

He felt a lurch in his stomach, a mix of trepidation and disappointment. What had he almost gotten into?

This time, his walk to the door was not inspired by fear. It was wariness, an urge to not be mixed up in things before he knew what they were. Jazz would have been proud of him.

He was stopped by the ghost materializing in front of him.

"Argh!" He found himself pressed against the floor, eyes wide and reflecting greengreengreen. The entire room seemed to warp, now malicious and cold as opposed to the warm and cheery interior that has presented itself to him earlier. Details sharpened. Everything felt so _cold_.

He examined the ghost.

It still sent thrills of terror running down his spine. An instinct to _runrunrun_. But now, now that he had a greater understanding and had faced it before and _won_ , he could shut down the primal urges and look.

It was floating, green like toxic waste. Gleaming red eyes, hazy in the glowing mist surround it. Tentacles that rippled in every direction.

 _Ectopus_ , his mind whispered, and he couldn't help it. He giggled, a strange sort of hysteria and inanity rising in his mind.

.

.

.

The world flipped sideways.

.

.

.

"Wait, wait! Stop!" The voice was his own, shrill and terrified.

.

.

.

.

.

Suddenly, he realized he was on the ground, clutching his chest as if there was something there that pained him.

 _There was_ , he realized a moment later. Something cold and intrusive, spilling everywhere inside of him. He could feel it spread from his heart to the very tips of his fingers, flowing sluggishly _like a thick pool of blooddelightfear_ –

"What…" His voice was hoarse.

Images flashed eagerly through his mind. Of nightmares, of death, of horrors previously unimaged. All accompanied by a sense of _satisfaction_ , of crooning delight.

He turned onto his side and threw up.

The flow of images slowed down, halted. His mind was no longer bombarded. He could think. Could see. Could place himself as being in Quirrell's office, still alive, still breathing, still existing.

 _What just happened?_

 _wE aRE TOgEThER_ , a voice cried out triumphantly in his mind. A brief glimpse of riches, awards, _deliciouspainmisery_ flashed through his mind, quickly tugged away before he could fully process the thought.

He recognized the voice. He felt a sinking feeling in his gut.

"I… the ghost…"

"Are you alright? Mr. Fenton?"

The presence of another voice, real, physical, reverberating through space, was the final push towards reality. Sensation returned, blindingly bright and vibrant. He felt the scrape on his arm, from the carpet that had burned against him as he fell. The aches in his bones and muscles. The pounding of his head, the texture of wooden table against his hand and the soft cotton of his robes against his skin, the smell of something rotten in the air –

 _yEs_ , the ghost whispered in his mind, pleased.

A hand touched his arm, and it was overwhelming. Skin upon skin, contact of the most direct kind possible between humans.

 _Lover'sembracelustlustpain –_

He recognized, dimly, that that was the ghost's memories, thoughts. They were accompanied by senses that he himself could not experience. They were alien to him, foreign, yet also disgustingly familiar to a primal part of him, the same part that had urged him to _run run run_ from the ghost.

When he was aware of the foreignness, of why it had appealed to and overwhelmed him, he was able to push it away.

It was like a heavy block had been removed from his chest. He gasped in relief, suddenly feeling as if he could _breathe_. Other sensations stopped being so overwhelming, the effect having been magnified by the newness it had held to the ghost.

"Daniel?"

"I'm… alright," he managed to say. Then, realizing what had happened,

"The ghost possessed me!?" he shrieked.

He remembered walking to the door. The sudden manifestation of the ghost. It approaching, approaching –

A strange feeling of fascination overtook him as he recalled the sensation of fear, of terror. He pushed it away, desperately ignored it for his own sanity. _That's not me, that's not me._

That was the ghost.

The ghost that was possessing him.

"No, not possessed," Quirrell said from above him. Despite everything, he still held the tones of a scholar enraptured. "You can still talk and move with your own will."

 _Oh._ So this is what they had been talking about, earlier.

But he hadn't wanted to actually do it!

(The feeling of bemused fascination that accompanied his heightened emotions unnerved him.)

"But I… ugh…" The hand on his arm suddenly yanked him upwards, and his limp body followed the motion. It made his head hurt worse. "Stop that!"

Quirrell set him back onto the chair, presumably so that he'd be more comfortable. He kept imagining the ghost hovering behind him, before repeatedly realizing that _no, it wouldn't be_ behind _him because it was_ inside _of him_.

It was disturbing on many, many levels.

The professor sat back into his seat behind his desk, across from Danny. He watched him quietly for a few moments before speaking.

"How do you feel?"

"Awful," was the short, curt answer. Danny was upset with him. He hadn't given his _goddamn permission for this to happen_ , and Quirrell was treating it like some… scholarly experiment!

Something more sympathetic flashed across the man's face.

"I'm sorry this happened. If I had known…"

The sour thing curdled in Danny's gut loosened somewhat, and he felt slightly less angry.

(The thing inside of him watched in avid fascination.)

"Could you… remove it?" A horrible thought occurred to him. "Is this permanent?"

The man opened his mouth, then closed it. Then shook his head grimly.

"I don't know."

"Oh."

Suddenly, he felt rather small. Helpless. The ghost inside of him reared in pleasure at his weakness. He shivered.

He sat in Professor Quirrell's office for a while, after that. Quirrell explained some things to him. They didn't do any experimenting with what had happened. The professor was perfectly sympathetic to his misery. He obliquely warned him about the consequences of what might happen if he told anybody what he now housed inside of him – the ghost might become upset with him if he did so, after all.

Then Danny left.

He didn't know what else to think about all what had transpired in that room. He left dizzy, his head spinning with new knowledge.

He was accompanied by a passenger, a parasite, that saw his every emotion as something new and fascinating.

A passenger that saw him as prey.


	12. Humanity: Chapter 12

A/N: I'm so sorry that I'm awful at updating. It's been a really busy summer and it seems like I never really had time to sit down and write. No, wait – that's actually a lie. I've had this chapter 80% done for a while now, and I just didn't write the last 20% for a looong time. But, well. I'm so awful at updating that I don't even feel guilty anymore. (Sorry.)

I think I'm a bit squeamish. It makes the squeam come on harder when writing things.

(When it's not a oneshot it gets sort of scary.)

Tell me what you think~! (It's probably very rough – I'm too close to it at the moment to tell for certain and so _any_ honest reviews would be greatly appreciated.)

 _EchoesInTheNight_ : Well, uh, I do knit. I'll take your word about all the other things though, like "regularly updated" or "complex puzzle." You know, the things that make me all bubbly inside even if I'm not entirely sure they're entirely true.

(But I'm just joking here. Honestly, thank you for all the kind words. Don't worry; you're not crazy – it's nice to hear that you appreciate my story. I'll try to live up to your expectations with it. ;) )

 _KidGenius_ : Oh, wow. Thank you so much! I feel all warm and squishy inside now. :)

 _Many pages posted as of August 16th. Not many more pages written._ (It's funny. I had actually thought I'd post this chapter in April. Whoops.)

Chapter 12

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

I… don't think I ever really got over what happened then. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to stir up old memories.

This morning I woke up breathing heavily. Heat and heart pounding. Body soaked in sweat.

But they all say that these kinds of memories need resolving, that they must be processed and understood, so that they stop manifesting in the form of nightmares. So with this hope, I forge on.

... We humans are such fragile creatures.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

"Ow!"

Danny quickly snatched his finger back with a pained hiss. The owl had bit him. He was seconds away from reflexively putting the bitten finger into his mouth, where the blood would be cleaned away and the injury soothed, before he remembered.

(images, memories of the s _weetmetallictangofblood sogoodneedmore_ –)

He glared at the creature.

 _hOw DAre it –_

No. No, that wasn't him. He couldn't think like that.

The owl was shaking. It had burrowed itself into the recesses of the Owlery, because it was scared. No, not just scared – it was _terrified_. Of him.

He felt sick.

He wished Professor Quirrell had never taken him to that room, all those weeks ago.

He wished –

No. That was another thing to avoid, he knew. If he became caught up on thoughts like this, of "what if's" and distance possibilities that would never be, it was to easy to fall into despair.

Despair fed the ghost inside of him.

When the ghost grew stronger, it had more _influence_. It could cause him to think more erratically, stray from his usual patterns. Now, when he could barely differentiate the ghost's thoughts from his own, preventing this was more vital than ever.

In the past month, he had learned many such valuable lessons when it came to dealing with the ghost.

Besides. He had more immediate task at hand.

He had to send a letter to his parents, telling them his plans for Christmas Break.

"Please," he begged the owl, trying to put the familiar slouch back in his shoulders, crouching down to look less threatening. "Just let me send this _one_ letter. I promise I'll try to find another school owl to ask next time if you do."

It wasn't the first time he had to plead with an owl. After the _incident_ , he had kept up a running correspondence with his family, but it seemed to only get more and more difficult as it went on. The number of school-appointed owls he could bargain with was running out.

(Still, it was worth it. It wasn't like he could talk to many others, anymore.)

After more coaxing, he was able to tie the letter to the owl's foot. The poor animal was shaking the entire time, and Danny had to work to keep the painful jolt of guilt from affecting him. Finally, the owl was off, flying free to send word to his parents.

He breathed a sigh of relief, then slumped against the wall of the Owlery.

This was becoming a problem. He should probably tell Professor Quirrell. He had no doubt that the man would be absolutely _fascinated_.

Bitter feelings arose within him at the thought. It was hard to push them away; he knew that Quirrell had only been trying to help. He didn't know it would have ended up this way. It wasn't his fault.

Still, it was hard.

The Professor was the only thing that the ghost was oddly quiet about, it seemed – a small mercy. Danny was free to feel anything about him. He had no doubt that if he carried these thoughts so freely about anyone else, he would be gleefully presented with images of their ruined, mangled corpse –

A remembrance of one such occasion flashed into his mind. He gagged and hunched over. The floor of the Owlery was painted fascinating colors of green and yellow.

A flash, a remembrance of that night, a memory entirely his own –

 _greengreendeath_

His head spun.

Everything inside of his screamed getoutgetoutgetout.

He dashed down the tower stairs, leaving the Owlery behind him as fast as his feet would carry him, breath too fast and light. When he reached one of the main corridors, he slowed down, trying to calm down before anyone saw him and could ask him what was wrong.

(Everything was wrong. Everythingeverythingeverything.)

There had been too much of that recently, kind and worried faces asking after him. He –

 _bastardpitynoiamSTrONG_

– was scared what he might accidentally do to them.

 _No_ , he corrected himself firmly. _What the_ ghost _would do to them._

He wished he could make himself believe that such a distinction existed.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

 _Danny was nervous. He knocked on Quirrell's door, simultaneously hoping that it would and that it would not open. His hands were shaking; he was exhausted. He hadn't slept, not the night after_ that _happened._

 _The usual silence of the first years boy's dorm after lights out had been replaced by the insidious whispering impressions of the ghost. Danny had barely dared to move, or even to think. It seemed that any miniscule action of his sparked the ghost's fascination and so he had spent the night staring blankly at the ceiling._

 _It wasn't merely a parasite-host relationship, however. Something… had happened, earlier._

 _This was why Danny was knocking at Quirrell's door._

 _The door opened. Trepidation beat a rapid tattoo in his heart, and he tried to ignore the feeling like a unique specimen under close inspection._

 _"Mr. Fenton? Are you alright?" The Professor sounded concerned. It made Danny feel slightly –_ slightly _– better._

 _Wordlessly, he raised his left hand._

 _Or, at least, he raised what he thought was supposed be his left hand._

 _There was nothing there. Nothing where the sensation in his hand told him where his fingers were, nothing moving even when he wiggled his fingers._

 _Nothing, at least, to where his elbow was._

 _It was a gruesome sight. Where the top half of his arm was_ missing _, here you could see all too much. Bones and muscles were displayed for all the world to see, a stump with living tissue beating and moving with every subtle twitch of a muscle._

 _There was no blood. The arm was not severed. The top half of Danny's arm was simply… missing._

 _"Fascinating," Professor Quirrell murmured. "When did this start?"_

 _A flash of hatred, so intense it almost made Danny take a step back, ran through him._

This _was his reaction?_ "Fascinating?" _It was his fault,_ his fault _, that this had happened in the first place –_

 _He struggled to calm the anger that had nearly overtaken him._

 _Quirrell was the only one who could help him._

 _The only one who_ was _helping him._

 _He couldn't be angry at Professor Quirrell. It had been an accident._

 _Strangely enough, the ghost hadn't respond to the outburst of emotion. Danny steadied his breath._

 _"A few hours ago," he said. His eyes drifted down to the stump of an arm he was holding up._

* * *

Humanity

* * *

It was the weekend. He had no place to be, now that he had completed his task. No classes to go to, no errands to run.

He considered the problem.

Maybe he could go onto the grounds by the lake, or to the library –

(The ghost reared at sensing the barest edges of the idea, eager. That was enough to deter him from even considering it.)

 _No._ What was he thinking? Of course he couldn't go to the library. _She_ might be there.

He tried to calm the sudden hitch in his breathing.

He supposed he could go to Professor Quirrell. He was at least safe, if nothing else. Danny could mention the problems he had with animals, and maybe even learn something about whattheheckisgoingon while he was there.

Yes. That sounded reasonable. It was decided, then.

His feet led him to the Professor's office. It was a familiar place now, so familiar that he thought he could find it with his eyes closed, even within Hogwart's elaborate fortress corridors. He knocked smartly on the door five times, a distinguishing signal that would let Quirrell know it was him.

The door, unsurprisingly, did not swing open in welcome. It was always an unsafe bet whether or not Quirrell was in the office; it seemed that he was almost always present elsewhere.

He stood there for a moment, blankly looking at the door.

Then sighed, and turned around, making an attempt to clear his head. Then it would the be the lake out on the grounds afterall. He took a step forward in the direction of the fastest route out of the castle.

It was then that someone crashed into him.

Danny fell to the ground. The hard stone ground _hurt._ Anger rose to the surface, hot and boiling red, and he was pushing himself off the ground to his feet before he even realized what he was doing.

 _WHo?_ they demanded indignantly.

When Danny caught a glimpse of the other student's face, he immediately did his best to to quell the burning self-righteousness and anger that had risen far too rapidly for his liking.

It was Dean Thomas.

"Danny?" He was startled. "What are you doing here?"

Danny found himself unable to find the correct words. He was already struggling to hide the conflicting feelings within him, the nausea that he knew would soon build within him.

 _–strungupburneddeliciousfear–_

It was a good thing he had already thrown up everything that he had eaten.

"Mate, you look awful," Dean said. "Are you okay?"

Desperately, he tried to think of anything that would turn Dean's mind off of his state of being. His eyes searched the hall for inspiration, only to realize what – or who – was missing.

"Where's Seamus?" he asked. The two seemed like an inseparable pair, and it was strange to see Dean alone.

 _uNproTecTEd._ He pushed the thought away.

Dean blinked. "Oh!" he said, as if startled into suddenly remembering something. A grin burst out on his face. "He's already at the Quidditch match. Would you believe it? He got there _before_ me! Just left me, just like that!"

A small silence. Danny realized he was supposed to say something.

"Oh," Danny said, feeling a bit disoriented. "There's a Quidditch match today?"

Had he really been so distant from the rest of Hogwarts that he hadn't even known that? Now it made sense, the looks of excitement that had been clear on every student's face, the sharpened House rivalry that permeated the castle.

Something within him, something that he knew belonged to him and only him, fluttered to life.

"Of course! How did you not know? Here, you can come with me."

Grinning, Dean Thomas, a boy who Danny had barely talked to for the past month, led him to the Quidditch pitch, a place that set Danny's heart pumping and dreams soaring every time he laid his eyes on it.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

 _Danny left the room an hour later._

 _It just didn't feel real._

 _His arm was missing, a stump in it's place. No blood, no pain. He could still feel the chill prickle at his fingertips._

 _He didn't go back to the dorms. He walked, walked, walked until he didn't know where he was. At last, he slumped against one of Hogwart's marble walls, too tired and too confused to worry about if anyone found him._

 _So it was that when a voice spoke up, from above and behind him, he didn't have the energy to be startled at it._

 _"Are you alright, boy?" the voice whispered._

 _An unexpected rush of pure_ gratitude _flowed through Danny._ Here _was a person who actually asked how_ he _was._ Here _was a person who genuinely cared._ Here _was a person who actually bothered to realize_ no, he might not be all right _._

 _It was enough to make him lift his head to look at the speaker. For a brief moment, he wondered how someone could possibly be_ behind _him._

 _When he realized why, he couldn't help the sharp stab of disappointment._

 _It was only a portrait._

 _Not a real person._

 _"I'm fine," he muttered angrily. "I just…"_

 _To his surprise, he felt liquid fall onto his arm. He looked – it was the arm that had been_ gone _. Now it was completely back, just as if nothing had happened._

 _And he was crying._

 _He thought about Halloween, of seeing the almost majestic green creature floating from the terrible chaos of the portal. Of the sheer_ terror _he had felt._

 _He had stood on the edge of a precipice at that moment, teetering from safety to death, death to safety. It had been close._

 _Too close._

 _He could have died._

 _And then the tears were uncontrollable, snot pouring down his nose and sticky wetness from his eyes._

 _Danny hated crying. But whenever something happened, whenever he was hurt or fell or_ anything _his body acted on its own, tears leaking and sobs coming without prompting. Jazz had called him a crybaby for it._

 _He wanted to see Jazz. He wanted to see his sister smile. He missed her._

 _He missed her so, so much._

 _"There, now," the portrait murmured, "It'll be alright."_

* * *

Humanity

* * *

Danny was surprised to discover that Harry Potter was part of the Quidditch team. Seeker, no less.

If it had been a month ago, he would have likely been resentful, or jealous. How come _Harry Potter_ got to fly in the Quidditch team when he couldn't? But now he was far too taken with the simple joy of being outside, with friends, cheering for his team for all he was worth and acting like a normal human being.

It had been too long. He had a feeling that the ghost didn't know how to react to these new, brilliant feelings welling up inside him, and that was why this hadn't been spoiled yet.

He remembered his first flying lesson, when he fell and saved Neville. Since then, flying had been nothing like that – instead, a dream come true. It was close enough to his dream of becoming an astronaut that it sent his heart palpitating with excitement, and even simply _watching_ was enough to thrill him.

Even better, Gryffindor seemed to be winning over _Slytherin_. This was a pivotal game, and House rivalry was at its climax. Gryffindor and Slytherin were ruthlessly competitive against one another; everybody knew that. It only made the game even more tantalizing to watch, the stakes in balance resting precariously along a single thin branch.

He knew that in this game, that branch was most likely Potter. The Snitch was what practically determined victory, and Gryffindor was betting hard on a first year being up to par for it. He had heard things about the previous Seeker, however, and knew that Harry would likely surpass the expectations for a Gryffindor Seeker.

Harry's innate talent for flight had been clear to Danny ever since his second flying lesson, when he first saw his classmate on a broom.

He watched as Quaffles and Bludgers flew across the pitch and as Harry remained still, searching patiently for the Snitch. He knew, also, that however good a flier Harry was, he would also need to have good eyes that would spot the snitch.

Numerous fouls were called: cobbling, blurting, blagging. Most of the names were unfamiliar to Danny. Still, he reveled in the intense spirits and tension floating around the spectators in the pitch.

 _Gryffindor will win_ , he thought with a fierce pride.

Things only started to go wrong when Harry's broom started jerking from side to side.

Danny was immediately on his feet, standing on the benches provided for the students of each House. His hand gripped the wooden board in front of him, feeling the plastic of the Gryffindor banner nailed onto the spectator tower.

What was going on?

Now, it almost seemed as if the broom were trying to buck Harry off. But he _knew_ that broom's couldn't do this. Was it a curse? Was someone trying to _kill Harry_?

Falling from that height would be fatal.

(He knew. _It_ had dropped people from that height before, seen the gross splat that they became at the bottom. And it had been only too eager to share.)

He whirled around, searching for answers, a solution, a _way to help_. He couldn't stand there and watch it happen, watch someone he knew become _that_.

He couldn't be helpless like that.

Not again.

He caught sight of Hermione slipping away through the crowd of Gryffindors, heading towards the tower's exit.

 _… What is she doing?_

If anyone, Hermione would be the one who knew what to do. She probably already had a solution in mind, and that was why she was leaving. Danny took a step forward, thinking he could somehow _help_ –

And stopped.

His stomach lurched.

 _What am I doing? I can't… The ghost…_

The thing inside of him perked up. He got the feeling that it was paying close attention.

He glanced backwards, towards where Harry was dangling from his broom.

Crap.

 _Crap._

He ran after Hermione Granger.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

 _On Halloween night, Danny had stood on the edge of a precipice. He had pulled himself back to safety._

 _On the day of the_ incident _, on the next day, he had been cast over the cliff with no chance of turning back._

 _Now, he was hanging on by a loose tree branch, struggling to protect what remained. Struggling to preserve himself._

 _With the portrait's crooning reassurance, he felt the branch, the tether to life and sanity, snap and crackle._

 _A strange mixture of angry pain, hurt, and discord raged within him, a tempest with no direction. A small push sent it whirling to the speaker. Danny found himself on his feet, turned to face the portrait._

 _"It_ won't _be all right," he half snarled, half wailed. "It won't won't won't –"_

 _Mindless static filled his mind. A disconnection. He wasn't sure what happened next._

 _The next thing he knew, he was staring at a torn portrait. His hands were shaking, and he stared at it with blank eyes._

But… _he thought, unable to comprehend what had just happened._ It had only been trying to help…

 _Then he realized. His gaze fell to his own hands._

 _He was too tired, too confused, too upset to feel any horror._

 _Yet a persistent guilt gnawed at him deep from within. Guilt, and_ something _else. Something alien. He didn't understand._

 _He understood too much._

 _He ran down the hall, suddenly desperate to get back to the dorms. Anything,_ anything _, to just pretend that nothing had happened and that everything was normal._

 _The branch snapped._

 _He_ _hung only by a thread._

* * *

Humanity

* * *

It was dark inside the dusty tunnels that connected the towers. Danny felt strangely _silent_ , not nervous, not confident, not happy. He felt as if he stood in the calm of the storm, a strange tension arising that told him he couldn't stay in the storm's center for much longer.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He could feel it beat, its frequent palpitations. He knew that usually he couldn't, that when he tried to listen or feel the heartbeat was elusive, but now it felt as clear as day.

He caught up to her on her way back.

She had finished what she had left to do.

It was a strange moment, when he saw her for the first time in a month. The silence expanded, became the whole world and time slowed down as if it had become thick syrup. His senses were hyperactive, everything was magnified, the outside world sluggish and detailed and too clear.

He had been her first true friend.

She had been the friend that meant so, so much to him.

There had been a reason why he had avoided her for a month.

At that moment, when he stared at her face and saw her startled recognition, the storm jerked away; he was not in the epicenter; he was terrifyingly revealed in the open and he knew knew knew that _it_ had been waiting for just this.

Suddenly, he could _see_ colors. No, not colors; scents, impressions, vague tastes. They were in the air everywhere, faint trails with emotions and pain and bright joy and fun. The brightest, the most vivid, was in front of him. Fresh. The trail, no, the _source_ was there.

Full of resplendent colors and bursts and emotions.

 _dELiCioUS_

It would be so easy. So, so easy. There was a line, a connection drawn already. All it would take was _tappIng THaT lINe –_

A hunger that had rested quietly inside of him flared.

 _– wouldfeelsomuchbetter –_

 _– foodsubstanceemotion –_

 _Yes._

Then the colors flared, expanded, took over his vision. It was too much, too much. Dimly, he heard a thud, felt splinters dig into his skin. A voice.

"Danny?"

It _hurt_. It hurt so much. Everything had been so clear, so crystalline a moment ago – now it was the opposite. The world was muddled and confused. Random streaks of light, of vague impressions he couldn't grasp, filled the empty space around him.

What happened?

Where am I?

Who…

Mercifully, the lights went out and he was cast into darkness.

* * *

.

.

.

Humanity


	13. Humanity: Chapter 13

A/N: I won't lie; I feel pretty impressed with myself. (You know, aside from the 50,000 words of almost absolute nothing that I have already written.)

I'm such a troll. :D

Six dots.

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Danny woke up in the hospital wing.

It was silent. No body was nearby. He stared at the ceiling briefly, then closed his eyes again.

An instinctive knowledge rested itself inside him, knowledge far beyond any doubt. He had been told this by nobody, but he knew it as a fact. The roots of it nestled in his core and its branches sprouting, wrapping themselves around his body like a comforting cocoon.

Something had changed.

For the first time in weeks, he felt warm again, no icy tinge spiking at his core at the slightest thought. He felt balanced, normal. Content. He shifted in the warm blanket, feeling utterly relaxed and he reveled in the feeling.

Something had changed.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he drifted back into a peaceful sleep, into dreams undisturbed by gruesome visions.

* * *

Humanity

.

.

.

.

.

.


	14. Humanity: Chapter 14

A/N: I'm sorry for being so slow! In my mind, the trolling incident had long passed and the next step revealed, but, heh, I guess it turned out that there was nothing posted after that. Thank you, kind reviewers, for returning my mind to this story.

I think things are only going to speed up from here (story-wise, not updating-wise). There is a lot that is going to happen, and keep on happening. My goal is to get to at least the end of Humanity.

(I love the Fenton family. Especially Jazz.)

(Don't expect the next update anytime soon.)

 _EchoesInTheNight:_ Indeed it has been too long. Hehe, I'm glad that I have you puzzled and that you understand my trollhood so well. (And of course, thank you for all the kind words. Also, your username/guestname is awesome.)

See you again in ... your present time!

Chapter 14

* * *

 **Growing Up**

* * *

Danny stared into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and did his best not to vomit.

He should have been delighted at the opportunity to speak the the man. Relieved, excited, anything. He could finally tell someone – someone other than Professor Quirrell – what was going on. About the – the… Surely, the headmaster was trustworthy. Someone with that kind of a face and twinkling eyes and such a grandfatherly demeanor couldn't be anything but.

And yet.

He couldn't help the nervous sinking feeling he felt, as if someone had lodged a heavy weight in his gut. In his lap, his hands shook ever so slightly. He kept them carefully hidden under the blue hospital bed sheet.

"Mr. Fenton?" the headmaster began, his eyes crinkled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

His gaze drifted down to stare at the rail of the bed, unable to keep staring at those sparkling blue.

"Madam Pomphrey already checked my health," he mumbled. She had come by earlier, waving her wand and telling him she was running diagnostics. She hadn't told him much else.

"Ah, my boy, but that will only tell her about your body. How are _you_ feeling?"

He hesitated.

He remembered flashes, glimpses. The Owlery room. A torn portrait. Flying. He was in a rickety, wooden tunnel. Part of some sort of tower? He didn't know.

"What happened?" he asked.

His mind was foggy. He felt as if he had woken from a dream. He felt as if he were going to say something, _something_ , but it was slipping away –

The headmaster was silent for a time.

Then,

"What do you remember?"

A violent tremor suddenly wracked through his body, and he couldn't help the jerk of his body, betraying his nervousness, fear.

(Why do I feel so scared?)

He tried he tried he tried, he pulled at the strings of his mind, he desperately searched for a memory to latch onto but all his thoughts were slick and slippery and nothing made sense.

"I-"

His voice choked, he couldn't continue. Stupid, stupid tears were clogging up his vision. He couldn't see. His heart beat frantically, his breathing erratic. He didn't know why he was feeling this way. He couldn't stop it.

The world slid sideways, a sickening jolt. Everything was suddenly darker, less real.

"I - I d-don't -" he tried to say.

He tried to calm down, slow down his breathing, make the world make sense, but there was something, something making him not able to be strong, not able to breathe right, to...

The world was now spinning, spiralling around him. He thought of dreams. Caveman impressions of _things_ , people, events.

Headmaster Dumbledore?

He registered someone standing up.

"Poppy!" a voice called.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

He heard voices yelling.

Some part of him knew it was Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, at Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster. Another part of him didn't care to know at all, and so he didn't.

He imagined the voices into monsters and evil beasts, a story that would only make sense in that present moment. He imagined everything to be a story, easily remembered, easily tucked away and forgotten. He imagined that maybe his life wasn't a story, after all.

"Here, honey," said another voice, pushing a glass of something into his hands. The arguing, yelling, the monsters screaming and all the worries of the world had stopped. "Drink this. It will make you feel better."

There was still something caught in his throat, or something heavy and difficult about his breathing, but it was better now. Manageable. He drank the glass.

It was warm and sweet.

He imagined being home.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

There was silence for a time.

He figured out what it was. That something, that awful something.

 _I can't remember, I can't remember._

He felt fractured.

Tossed away.

Broken.

.

.

.

.

.

.

It hurt.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

Then.

His time was up. He was leaving the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey, who had yelled at the headmaster, who had given him a warm, sweet drink, who had told him reassuring crooning words, decided that what he needed was to be with his friends, return to his normal schedule.

It was Percy Weasley who led him back to the Gryffindor tower.

He remembered Percy. It was Percy who had helped him find Neville's frog, so long ago. It was Percy who had comforted him in the common room the first night at Hogwarts, and who had indirectly told him that his dreams of becoming an astronaut, in wizarding world, were practically impossible.

Now, Percy Weasley managed to look both simultaneously uncomfortable and sympathetic.

"And how have you been doing?" Percy asked as the walked briskly down the grand halls of Hogwarts.

"Er," he cleared his throat, then blinked wide eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, furrowing his brows.

He didn't _actually_ know, did he? For a brief moment, the slippery, fluttering panic returned, but the presence of Percy, a prefect (and someone he absolutely _refused_ to cry stupidly in front of) stabilized him.

Luckily, Percy seemed to be just as uncomfortably awkward in the situation, and so, instead of waiting expectantly for him to continue, Percy decided to fill in the silence himself.

"One of those days, eh? I can't say I've been in the hospital wing for myself many times, but I've been for Fred and George's sake plenty of times, and I _must_ say, it's not the most pleasant of places to be."

Danny nodded mutely.

"I did want to tell you – I did more research into what we talked about, er, much earlier. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you about it." When Danny stared at him blankly, he rushed to explain, "Er, about space, and jobs and the like. I'll confess I didn't really know much about space before you mentioned it to me –" Here, his cheeks flushed red as if the admission pained him, "– but I have done plenty of research since then."

"Y-you did?" Some strange emotion was bubbling up inside of him.

Percy graced him with a smile, looking pleased with himself. "Yes! I did. There are apparently _several_ options that I had never heard about before. Apparently, some wizards have been assigned to watch the Muggles technuh-technological progress – what a strange idea! – and then other independent wizards doing their own research on the topic. Quite fascinating, honestly! Did you know, that in Germany, they are conducting…"

And on and on he talked, and on and on Danny listened, until at last they reached the Gryffindor common rooms. It was almost disappointing to reach their destination, because now Percy's face was flushed red with excitement instead and Danny's spirits had been cheered with all the talk of space. He felt as if the past day ( _day_?) had barely happened at all.

Then Percy called out the password to the Gryffindor tower and the Fat Lady swung open her portrait and the moment of peace was over.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

"Are you okay?"

This was the first thing that Hermione asked him when she saw him.

He shifted self-consciously. By now, he had already figured out all sorts of strange things: it was the beginning of December, he looked like he hadn't been eating or sleeping properly, and apparently, both he and Hermione had collapsed inside a Quidditch spectator tower for mysterious reasons.

Hermione had woken up and been cleared hours before by Madam Pomfrey, long before Danny had even awoken.

"I'm… okay," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Are you?"

He was surprised when she pulled him into a sudden hug.

"I'm sorry," she said, and he, startled, realized that it sounded as if she had been crying. "This is my fault. I've been avoiding you for so long, and then I saw you in that tunnel, looking so… _dead_ , almost, it was like… I wasn't sure what had come over me."

She released him, and he stared at her. It was like he hadn't seen her face in so long.

"Hermione…" he said, and he felt unbalanced, confused, dizzy.

Avoiding him?

(A Halloween feast.)

Why had she been avoiding him?

(Red, simmering anger.)

What happened in that month he lost?

(An impression of violent neon green.)

"I-I don't understand," he said aloud. "What happened?"

Hermione paused, looked confused for a brief moment, then scrunched her eyebrows together. Her eyelids were a puffy red.

"Well," she started, "I… What do you mean, what happened?"

"I remember…" Danny shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "I remember the troll. What happened then?"

If anything, she looked more confused. "The troll? That was a month ago."

It didn't feel like a month ago. It didn't feel like yesterday either, even though that's what his mind told him it _should_ be. It felt like forever ago, as if it hadn't really happened, maybe, but everything was centered around this one memory, and if he could understand it, then maybe he'd know what had happened to him.

He struggled to find a way to explain this to her.

"Hermione, I…" He stared at her, hopelessly lost for words.

"You what?" she asked.

"I don't remember," he said quietly, almost imperceptibly. But she had heard.

"Remember what?" She stared at him, bewildered.

"Anything!" he burst suddenly. "It was Halloween and there was – something – something _green_ and _awful_ – and a troll – Quirrell – and I – I –" He stopped. He couldn't make sense of it. His head hurt.

He wiped snot from his nose, and realised that he had begun crying. It _hurt_ but it also felt good, but Hermione was _watching_ him, with a startled, owl-eyed expression.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Oh," she said. Then she hugged him again, because he was crying and stupid and had nothing better to do except be _weak_.

Then it was over. Danny's hiccups had lessened, eyes dried. She pulled away.

"You like awful," she said, scrutinizing him once more. "Like you haven't eaten much. How do you feel?"

He was startled by the question.

"F-fine," he said, trying to make it sound like the truth.

She frowned.

"You must have hit your head, back in the tower. That must be why."

"Right," he said, weakly.

And thus their friendship was reborn.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

In the three weeks that remained before winter break, Danny caught up with everything: his classes were now going well, Hermione had taken him to "meet" her two new best friends, Ron and Harry (she even confided in him that they were looking for something about _a Nicholas Flamel – had you ever heard of him? Ah, well, it was worth a try_ ), he had talked with Neville and Dean and Seamus and everybody he knew and some he didn't (he had been repeatedly informed by everyone about how much better he looked, and how strange and reclusive he had been the past month). Everyone was telling him about all he had missed, and asking questions he couldn't answer.

Magic was easier than ever. He loved the thrum, the buzzing feeling he felt whenever he cast a spell. The professors were astounded with his progress – especially considering the circumstances. Percy, who Danny had been talking to more often now, had also been delighted.

On the last day before break, Professor Quirrell asked to see him.

Danny tried not to think about what the professor had told him, and asked of him.

He was finally going home! He was finally going to see his parents again, and his sister. It had been too long.

The day passed all too quickly, in a torrent of packing, goodbyes, and see-you-soon!'s. Before he knew it, it was the next morning, and he was ready to get on the Hogwarts express.

(He somehow couldn't quite bring himself to be entirely happy, however, with what Professor Quirrell had told him weighing on his mind.)

He rode in the train with Neville and Hermione, and they chatted about their break plans. Hermione's family was travelling for Christmas – _how wonderful! where to_? Neville was staying home, like Danny – _do you want to get together after Christmas_?

The time in the train, too, passed quickly with his friends, and soon enough, he was at the station.

It felt surreal. He was back in London, back home, back to reality. He craned his neck over the crowd to find his family.

There they were.

His dad, as large and clumsy and as enthusiastic as ever. His mom, still donning her goggles, standing ever so proudly in her jumpsuit. Jazz next to them, looking as if she were ashamed to be part of this family, a small twitching smile nevertheless gracing her face.

Danny waved and called to them, and weaved his way towards his family.

 _His family_. It was so, so good to see them again.

He hadn't realized until this moment, but he had missed them.

"Mom! Dad! Jazz!" He felt the huge grin stretching across his face.

"Danny-boy!" his dad bellowed, and bestowed upon him a large Fenton-family hug.

Danny felt as if, for once, everything was right again in the world.

Then he was in the car with the rest of the family, his dad in the driver's seat, yelling along with Jazz to _pleaseslowdownorelsewearegoingtodieeee_ –

Mom turned from the front seat to ruffle his hair, giving him her motherly smile, purple eyes creasing fondly.

"I'm glad you're home."

It was just like the Fenton family to be so infuriating and so wonderful at the same time.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

"So, spill."

Jazz was peering at him from his bed, her teal eyes opened wide and curious.

"Spill what?" he asked, slightly annoyed, but with a smile on his face.

"You were just at a magic school! Come on, you can't tell me you have _nothing_ to tell me about it. What was it like? Was it fun? What did you learn?" She looked at him closely, scrutinizing his face, then gasped loudly. "You look tired. Were you – were you actually _studying_?"

She sounded simultaneously so pleased and incredulous that Danny burst into laughter.

"Dan- _ny_!" she whined.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he said, still chuckling. "It's just good to see you."

Her look suddenly turned pensive. "It has been a while, hasn't it? It's been quiet without you in the house."

There was a pause.

"I missed you," he said suddenly. Jazz looked at him, nonplussed.

Then she smiled.

"I missed you too." The excitement returned to her face in a red flush. " _Soo_ , how was it?"

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to think. How indeed, was his time at Hogwarts? He remembered the last three weeks fondly, but the ones before…

He didn't want to disappoint Jazz, however, when she had that eager look on her face.

"Hogwarts was amazing – _magic_ is amazing. I wish I could show you – it's an amazing feeling, like, well, like magic."

He showed her his wand.

"You saw this before I left, but I wanted to show you something. See this mark? It's, ah –" he rubbed the back of his neck, "it's where I've always held it, and because of the oil on our hands, it shows up. It's a nice feeling though, like proof that I can do magic and that I _do_ magic, you know? It's really cool. I'm a wizard, Jazz!" It was the kind of small, embarrassing thing that he could only ever tell a sibling.

"How does magic work?" she asked curiously.

"Well, basically," Danny said, holding his wand upright, "you motion your wand, say a word, an incantation with an intent and _it happens_. You feel a sort of flow, a buzz. The spells we're learning now are more basic – you don't need so much _intent_ , I think – that's what the theory books and Hermione say, anyway."

"Ohh, and how is Hermione? Have you two been sticking close in Hogwarts?"

Danny opened his mouth to say something, then abruptly stopped.

"She's doing well, now," he said slowly. That part was easy. He had talked to her on the train. Her family was traveling. Before, though...

A sharp shoot of pain lanced through his head.

"Danny?" his sister's voice sounded concerned.

"What? Oh. Hermione. What did you ask again?" He felt muddled suddenly, disorientated.

(A dark wooden tunnel, suspended high in the air.)

(The sound of muted cheers.)

(Her face.)

"Are you okay?" Jazz asked.

"I feel a little…" His gaze snapped up to meet hers.

She was his sister. His older, wonderful sister who he hadn't seen in so long.

"Danny?"

She cared. She had practically raised him. If he didn't tell her, who _would_ he tell?

"Jazz, something happened." He didn't like admitting it. Maybe if he pretended nothing had happened, it would go away.

She waited. He looked away, unable to meet her eyes any longer.

"I was – Jazz, I lost an entire month." He paused, licking his lips nervously. "I mean, I don't remember anything from November. Well, there are glimpses – impressions, but I … I just don't remember, and… it scares me."

"You forgot?" she asked softly, inviting him to continue.

"Professor Quirrell told me that I had been possessed by a ghost," he said impulsively, and gulped. He stared at the corner of his bed.

(That hadn't been all that Quirrell had told him.)

"A ghost?"

Her voice wasn't incredulous. It wasn't disbelieving, or wavering. She believed him.

"People told me that I had acted different then – not talking, unhealthy. Hermione… Hermione told me she had been _avoiding_ me for some reason, for something I said during Halloween. And I couldn't even remember – !

"But during Halloween, I keep on seeing it – green and terrible and awful. It wasn't like the ghosts at Hogwarts, talkative and kind – though some are still scary. This was… this was one of mom and dad's ghosts, the ones they talked about in scary bedtime stories. It was green and awful and so _wrong_ , and also so…"

He suddenly couldn't speak. His throat was dry.

So…

 _Beautiful?_

Was that what he was going to say?

No, it couldn't be.

"Why was a ghost inside Hogwarts?" Jazz asked.

"It wasn't inside," Danny replied absentmindedly. "I wasn't supposed to be there. I was angry – angry at someone and I had come out to see the stars…"

He blinked. He remembered something.

"It wasn't meant to be there either. It came from a gate, a portal, a swirling vortex of green…"

He felt a strange ache in his chest.

"How did Professor Quirrell know you were possessed?"

Danny's gaze snapped back to hers, suddenly alert.

"Jazz…"

"How did Professor Quirrell know?" she repeated.

"I don't remember!" he snapped, more harshly than he meant to. "He's a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher – he's supposed to know this stuff."

She frowned. "It's strange though, isn't it? You were possessed for a _month_."

He stared at her.

"He was helping me," his mouth said.

"How do you know?"

"He told me. Jazz, just… let it go, please?"

He didn't want to talk about Quirrell.

"Danny, this is serious."

"I know!" He had to fight to keep the stupid tears away – he had suddenly started feeling bad, all over again. "I _know_ that."

She looked at him.

"Please don't tell Mom and Dad," he said.

"But –"

"Please."

She looked at him, frowned, made her displeasure clear. But at last she crumpled.

"Alright," she said. "I won't tell. Until you're ready."

Then she leaned forward and squeezed his arm reassuringly, looking at him earnestly.

"Thank you, Danny."

"For what?" he said weakly.

"For trusting me."

They talked late into the night, moving on to happier topics, and Danny told her about Hogwarts, magic, and the stars.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

It was the dreaded day: Christmas.

The infamous argument had already started, in the wee hours of the morning. Mom, yelling fervently "No, Santa does _not_ exist!" and Dad just as passionately protesting "Does too!"

Danny groaned. What a _great_ start to the day.

For a family event, the day wasn't filled with very much family time. Jazz and Danny did their best to avoid their parents, snooping around the house cautiously, whispering quietly, like co-conspirators.

They snuck their presents under the battered Christmas tree at the first chance, hoping for the best, that the argument could just be _settled and done with_ , either way.

The only time they really came together that day was for dinner.

It was a Fenton special: glowing green goop. Maddie ladled out the Christmas appetizer, giving generous portions to each bowl. Danny cringed when he saw it. He hesitantly spooned some and plopped some green bits into his mouth, expecting the worst.

"Wow, this is really good, Mom," Danny said, surprised.

Jazz shot him a skeptical look. "Really?"

She tried some, then grimaced.

"Tasted like plain old ectoplasm to me."

"Huh," Danny shrugged, then merrily chowed down some more.

It looks like he would enjoy one Christmas dinner, at the very least!

Dinner, at first, was blessedly silent (well, mostly, at least), as everyone was occupied with their food. Then, when the discussion began, Danny was pleasantly surprised to discover that their parents were attempting to keep their Santa argument off the family dinner table.

"So how has school been?" Maddie asked him brightly. "You've been away for so long!"

"It's been… good," he said, still eating. "Magic is really cool."

"Any favorite classes?"

"Astronomy! Definitely. Though it's a little different from our conventional science classes…"

"How so?"

He considered it.

"Well, for one, it's not so much about _why_ stars and planets do what they do, but about _what_ they are. And wizards always have the strangest ideas – like imagining that a moon could be covered in _mice_ , rather than ice! It would seem totally normal to them.

"But the class is really cool because wizards can have _such_ a greater view of the stars. Their telescopes are enhanced to be able to see the surface of planets light-years away…"

He trailed off dreamily, and since his mom seemed to recognize his interest in the class, she quizzed him still more on his experiences. It was nice.

Of course, this topic didn't last long. The Fenton family always had a knack for mutating every normal conversation into a topic about ghosts.

"Have you seen any ghosts at Hogwarts?" Maddie asked innocuously.

Dad started, his attention aroused. "Ghosts!" he cried. "Where?"

Danny was also startled. But he forced his mind away from _that_ ghost – that glowing, green monstrosity – to the more typical Hogwarts ghost. He noticed Jazz shooting him a _look_.

"Oh, the Hogwarts ghosts aren't like the ghosts you study, Mom, Dad," he said, keeping a smile fixed in place. "They… can't really touch things – well, except Peeves, but he's a poltergeist, and still isn't too powerful. They're also more silvery and translucent…"

"Aww…" Dad looked let down.

"Are they aggressive?" Mom asked, looking dubious, and Damny let loose an incredulous laugh.

"What? No. The Hogwarts ghosts? They're nice. Well, at least our House ghost is. I don't know about the Bloody Baron…"

A thought occurred to him.

"Hey, Mom? Dad?"

"Yes, Dann-o?"

"Have you ever heard of a… ghost portal?"

Shock bloomed on his mom's face. His dad's shoulders slumped. They traded a look.

Danny turned to look at Jazz, bewildered by this reaction. She looked equally confused.

"We, ah, tried to build one, once," Jack said, then looked at Maddie. Then he brightened. "Maybe we could try it again!"

"What?" Danny was confused. That wasn't what he had intended. " _What?_ "

"You're right, Jack!" The downcast look had disappeared from Mom's face too, and she smiled brilliantly at Jack. "It would be our greatest invention! All the research possibilities! And we'll do it _right_ this time – fix all of our mistakes."

Danny felt sick.

(Glowing, green, violent tendrils snaking from its core…)

(A sense of _wrongness_.)

He looked at Jazz.

She mouthed, " _Tell them._ "

He looked away, down at the dinner table, at the remnants of all the green goop he had just eaten.

Santa had been better than this.

* * *

Humanity

* * *

The remainder of the break had whizzed by, like a comet blazing through the sky – ephemeral, wonderful.

He had loved being back with his family, in the craziness and the madness. There was a thrill to it that he hadn't recognized before he had been gone from it for so long – now that he could see his home with fresh eyes, he could appreciate it more for what it was.

(His parent's lingering excitement for the ghost portal idea, however, worried him.)

He now had made promises to write back more often – he had sent so few letters last semester! Like the last day at Hogwarts, the day was filled with a whirlwind of packing and goodbye's.

Jazz warned him to "be careful, and take care of yourself."

Mom told him she loved him.

Dad told him to not let any of those pesky ghosts bother him, and gave him a crushing hug that Danny thought he would never escape from.

Danny had also received some well-wishing from his old friends back in Amity, Tucker and Sam (he had finally remembered her name!). With the marvel of technology that is a computer (a marvel Hogwarts sorely lacked, unfortunately), he was able to briefly get in contact with them and play some Doomed. He sucked at it; he had gotten rusty over the months.

It had been nice, though. It was nice to be home again, for these two weeks.

And as Danny lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and its patterned glowing stars, he found himself smiling. The break was over now, and even though he knew he would miss his family, he couldn't help but feel a warm glow of contentment:

He was going back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Humanity

.

.

.

.

.


End file.
